


(So This Is) Heartache

by Shaele



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Brief appearances of other characters - Freeform, Character Loss, Denial, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild To Severe Depression, Postpartum Depression, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, mild anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaele/pseuds/Shaele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>That second plate on the table... why do I even bother setting that out every night? It’s not like Saruhiko’s going to waltz into the room with that irritating little smirk of his and kiss my scowl away like he usually did every night. I’ll absentmindedly pick out the meat in my food so that he could take them if he wanted them, though. </i> </p><p>  <i>I’ll walk into the apartment with an enthusiastic “I’m home!” if I somehow remembered that it was one of those days where Saruhiko would be home before me. And if it wasn’t, I would still call out “Welcome home!” when the time came that he would have, should have, arrived home.</i></p><p>  <i>I’ll mumble the words “I love you”, expecting a response in Saruhiko’s voice. I’d let my heart flutter when I imagined that yes, he had indeed just told me he loved me back.</i></p><p>  <i>Ah, but how’s he going to take my meat now? How’s he going to shyly mumble “Welcome back” when I come home or “I’m home” after a long day’s work, if he’s not coming home now? How can I tell him that I love him and how is he going to tell me he loves me, if we can’t see each other now?</i></p><p>  <i>I used to believe happiness was just around the corner. Now? Heh, what </i>is <i>happiness?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Isn't Goodbye, Right?

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Tumblr for Sarumi Fest 2016, but I'll be posting it here too.
> 
>  **Warning** : This fic doesn't center around the concept of soulmates for most of the story.

“Let me tell you some things about this man... He was alive and breathing just _two weeks_ and _fourteen hours_ ago. He was smiling as I watched the life get sucked out of his eyes. Hell, he was _comforting_ me too as I sat there and begged for him to stay awake.

“I didn’t get a lot of time with him…. Sure, I got more time than some people did, but we’re both barely twenty-two. That’s _at least_ forty years left to live without him. That’s too much time to think about him and what could have been. That’s too much time to wonder what life would be like if he were still alive.

“And to be honest, I’m not okay. I only had _three_ years with him. The best three damn years of my life, might I add. He was a pain in the ass. He was so picky about his food that he’d gone on a granola bar diet once just because I kept sticking a couple pieces of carrots in his lunchbox. He spent half of his time at home complaining about anything _and_ everything. He clung to me whenever he could. He would tease the shit out of me over something like my height or how girly my handwriting looks.

“And now that he’s just _gone_ , it’s hard for me to wake up without that monkey clinging to me. It’s hard for me to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for _one_. It’s hard for me to _not_ turn around and call his name. It’s hard for me to take a shower and have to look at my half-faded tattoo. Fuck, it’s hard to do _anything_ without remembering that nobody’s going to return home to me every night with something to complain about.”

Yata Misaki took a deep breath, watching the tears roll off the cheeks of every individual that had chosen to gather for one last farewell to the person that had - and always will - meant _everything_ to him. He was crying, too, and barely holding onto his voice as he spoke the last half of his message.

“He was an asshole, but he was _my_ asshole. He was mean but he made a point to show me he cared about me even when he wanted to do nothing but stay in bed all day. He knew how to make me feel better when I was upset. He didn’t smile a lot, but when he did it was one of the best things ever. He worked hard, _too_ hard, but always came home to me. He always came home…”

Yata was losing his composure as he got to the hardest part of the speech. He toyed with the hem of his suit, forcing the lump that had formed in his throat to disappear. _Almost there._

“Fushimi Saruhiko… my _soulmate_ … died protecting me. He threw himself in the line of fire to make sure I’d be able to make it out alive. Did we ever tell anyone how fucking _unlucky_ we always were? Something bad always happened to us. But this… this was just really, _really_ unfai-”

Yata choked. He couldn’t get the last word out. He watched helplessly as his mind replayed Saruhiko’s last few moments in his mind. How he shoved Yata out of the way, a gunshot resounding in the empty air barely a second after. How he held onto Yata as he gave him a sappy speech about taking care of himself. How he told him he loved him and wouldn’t let him die that night.

He clutched at his heart, willing it to let him breathe. _Just a little longer._

Yata’s hands were shaking as he tried to gain his composure back. He couldn’t look at the crowd anymore, so he just stared at the piece of paper that was on the pedestal. It was blank, because Yata Misaki wasn’t the kind of person that would willingly write an entire speech in such short notice. Or at all, for that matter. This speech, this farewell talk…. It was all him. It was Yata at his core.

“H-he… he was just _smiling_ at me as he tried to hold me. He wouldn’t stop telling that it’s going to be alright and that I needed to shut up and stop crying. The last thing he told me was that he loved me and that he’ll be waiting for me.

“Can you believe it?” Yata laughed bitterly, suddenly tempted to rip the paper to shreds. “Saruhiko, the most _impatient_ person I’ve ever met, told _me_ he’ll be _waiting_ for me.” He hiccupped, and managed to smile before he prepared himself to choke out his last few words.

He looked to the coffin that was sitting in the center of the small stage. “I love you, Saru, and I miss you… _so_ much.”

 

* * *

 

 

Yata was certain that he had broken down on the stage when he finished his eulogy - if it could even be _called_ that.

He was also certain that he had to be helped off the stage. He felt weak and looked even worse, but everyone understood his pain - losing a soulmate at a young age was one of the _worst_ kinds of pain anyone could ever experience.

It was torture, too, to have to live with a half-faded soulmate tattoo on their shoulder - forever a physical reminder that they're gone, and won’t ever be back.

The person in charge of the funeral waited until Yata was in a more stable condition before ushering everyone outside. It was a warm April afternoon, and the blooming cherry blossoms looked out of place with the current mood of the crowd. Yata still wouldn't budge from his seat as he stared at the glossy black box where his soulmate was resting in. He's memorized the way Saruhiko looked - as if he was taking one of the most peaceful naps he's ever taken, except instead of his usual loose pajamas and content smile, he was wearing a penguin suit identical to Yata’s own attire with a straight, _dead_ expression.

“Yata.” Kusanagi called out to the young man from a few feet behind him. “We’re ready to go.”

Yata nodded numbly, but didn’t make a move to leave his seat as he watched some of Saruhiko’s co-workers pick up the coffin and take it outside. He still didn’t move, even when the coffin left the mostly empty room and entered the hearse.

“Yata,” Kusanagi tried again, approaching him slowly. “We need to go.” He tried patting his shoulder, but Yata immediately shied away from the touch.

“… _Don’t touch me_.” Yata growled and tried to glare, but he was too tired to bother. He hasn’t slept very well in the two weeks and now fifteen hours since Saruhiko was gone, and it only became more and more evident what with the way he carried himself and in the way he was no longer the liveliest one in the bar he worked at.

“Yata, everyone’s waiting for you.” Kusanagi tried reasoning with him.

“Let them wait.” His words were icy compared the warmth of Kusanagi’s own.

“You know better than to do that, Yata.”

Yata clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles were as white as a sheet. He just wanted everyone to disappear. To leave him alone forever. _Go away, go away, go away!_

_Misaki, stop._ Another voice chided him. Its voice sounded strangely familiar, but he couldn’t be bothered to figure out why.

It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually Yata gave in and stood up weakly, rejecting any assistance and trudging towards the exit on his own two feet. He ignored the sympathetic looks and went straight into his assigned car, locking his side of the door and curling up into a fetal position. _Screw having a seatbelt_.

“Yata, you’re not going to feel any better if you don’t try to finish this day.” Totsuka said, looking back at him from his position in the passenger seat. Yata didn’t even notice Totsuka in the car until just then, but he didn’t care in the least. It was them and Kusanagi assigned to this car, for more than obvious reasons - they were the only ones that could approach Misaki without getting (figuratively) bitten.

Yata didn’t answer; instead, he curled up even tighter and tuned out all the sounds around him, welcoming the silence of his mind. He didn’t notice Kusanagi getting in and driving them off towards the cemetery, nor did he notice their arrival. Totsuka was the first to leave the car, and stood patiently by Yata’s door.

Kusanagi went out and opened up Yata’s door, smiling sadly at his broken figure.

_It hurts, doesn’t it? I’m sorry that you have to go through this._

“Let’s go,” both Kusanagi and Totsuka spoke softly to him, coaxing him out of the car and into the light of day. Yata squinted, making out nothing but the shapes of the cherry blossoms.

God, how he hated them right then and there.

He spotted Mikoto away from the crowd, looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Something about it unnerved Misaki, and he held his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, wanting nothing more than to simply _hide_ from everyone.

He didn’t really remember how the ceremony – or whatever it was called at this point – started, but he _did_ remember being the last to take one last look at Fushimi before the coffin was closed and buried six feet under. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to look away from Fushimi’s figure. He stared at the ring that was looped in the chain that hung on his neck; at their wedding photo right under it.

“You’re not gone, right?” Yata’s small laugh was devoid of any real emotion. “This isn’t real, right?”

Nobody answered him.

“I’m not that stupid though… You’re gone, aren’t you? That’s why we’re all here, right? To say goodbye…. Yeah…” Yata started to sniffle as he held Fushimi’s cold hand one last time. “I’ll see you soon, okay you stupid monkey? I’ll see you soo-“

His throat tightened and he broke down again, letting Fushimi’s hand go. He was now falling on his knees and resting his head on the side of the coffin, unable to maintain his composure any longer. He couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop the sobbing, the yelling, the _pain_ that had taken over him. His own mother watched as her son cried and cried, afraid to comfort him only to break him even more.

Nobody went to comfort the widower except one of the only two that have bothered to speak to him that day.

Totsuka went to crouch next to Yata, winding an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. Neither tried to speak, and when Yata managed to turn and cling to him, Totsuka simply hugged him tight and let him cry as much as he needed to.

The pain was a lot worse the younger you were.

After some time, Yata’s mother went up to her son, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. She, too, had tears running down her face; but who didn’t, really? She couldn’t say a word to comfort him.

Nobody could, really, because nobody could guarantee that it’d _really_ be alright, that the pain would _really_ go away.

It didn’t take too long for Misaki to gather up the strength to stand and give one last loving look at his soulmate before turning and sitting next to his mother somewhere in the front row of chairs. He watched with lifeless eyes as they slowly lowered Fushimi deeper, deeper, _deeper_ into the ground, until he was at the proper depth to be buried.

Yata was brought back up to sprinkle the first handful of dirt on top. It was stupid, really. Why would he have to be the first to dirty Fushimi’s coffin? For added measure, he tossed in Fushimi’s favorite forget-me-not flowers from a random bouquet that was displayed next to the hole, too, because he felt that _maybe_ it’d help him calm down, help him forget the pain, but it only helped remind him that he wasn’t going to forget him, wasn’t going to forget the pain.

So he started tearing up again, but he didn’t cry again. Not yet.

Yata sat back down and waited for everyone else to finish, waited for the big crane to dump mounds and mounds of dirt onto his soulmate, waited for everyone to disperse and meet up at some place he didn’t even _want_ to go to, but _had_ to because he was the widower and he was supposedly the one needing all the support he could get.

_No, no, no_. he didn’t _want_ their support. Didn’t _want_ them offering their apologies or condolences to him. Didn’t _want_ their eyes on him as he grieved.

But Yata - as Totsuka had seas not too long ago - needed to finish what had already started, so he mindlessly went back to Kusanagi’s car, mindlessly allowed Kusanagi’s and Totsuka’s words to completely miss his ears, and mindlessly dragged himself into a chair in another open-spaced area he didn’t even _know_ the location of, where they were supposed to eat dinner and share some more words about the deceased.

Yata skipped dinner and listened to everyone fuss over him and how much weight he had lost in the past two weeks. Nothing reached him though; he _heard_ , but he only _really_ heard Fushimi’s lullaby as he stared blankly at the faces of Fushimi’s (now) former co-workers, his own co-workers, and even his mother and siblings. He tried to smile - really, he did - but he felt so weak and so lifeless that he honestly just wanted to leave.

And so he did; when the crowd pulled back and resorted to mingling with one another and not _just_ him, Yata simply walked out with the excuse of “I’m getting fresh air”, and started to head out of the place. He didn’t know which direction he needed to go, but he was sure he’d make it home eventually.

_Where_ is _my home though? Saruhiko, is there any place I can call home now?_

He was almost out of the gates, but footprints began resounding in the chilling air, forcing him to stop and look back at whoever had decided to approach him. He was ready to punch and kick and scream at this point. Anything, anything, _anything_ to make the pain go away.

Misaki was met with calculating violet eyes.

“Munakata.” Misaki deadpanned. He didn’t want to talk to _him_ of all people. He felt the grief twist and turn to anger at the sight of Fushimi’s manager. It wasn’t _him_ in particular he was angry about, no. It was _everything_ _else_ that wasn’t Fushimi that was putting him on edge.

“Yata.” Came his calm response. “I see you’ve decided to leave.”

“Like hell am I going to stay in that place.” Misaki spat. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

Munakata only smiled, the knowing glint in his eyes adding fuel to the fire in the pit of Misaki’s stomach. “I’m not here to pity you. I’m here to bid my farewell to one of my best employees.”

“An employee that _you_ _overworked_ most of the time.” He remembered all those nights Fushimi would come home complaining about work or about his manager in general. It was annoying, to say the least, but Fushimi put up with it because he felt like it was what was necessary for the both of them.

“He did it on his own free will for you, Yata.”

Yata froze, but still glared daggers at the taller male. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to people talk about Fushimi. He didn’t want to hear anything about Fushimi. No, not now, not yet.

When Yata kept quiet, Munakata spoke again. “He wanted you to have a good life, so he worked hard to get you two what you have now. He asked me for more work so that he could get the apartment and make sure that you two never ran into financial issues. He did all of that,” he waved his hand in an arc in front of him, “and more for you.”

Yata snapped.

“ _Shut up_!” he nearly yelled, hands curling into fists. “Stop talking about him!”

_Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop talking as if he’s gone!_

“He wants you to be happy, you know.” Munakata smiled again, but there was a hint of sadness in it this time. “Be careful which path you decide to tread from now on.”

“ _Fuck you_!” Misaki screamed before he turned tail and ran. He ran, ran, _ran_ until he couldn’t see that godforsaken building. Ran until he was so tired he couldn’t possibly think straight. Ran until he managed to figure out his way back to their – his – apartment.

It took him everything he had left in him not to slam the door shut, and the moment that door clicked and locked he pulled off the stupid suit he was forced to wear and jumped onto their – his – bed in nothing but his boxers. He hated, hated, _hated_ this day. He hated the past two weeks of his life. He hated how everyone couldn’t just _leave him alone_.

Yata crawled under the covers, held one Fushimi's many pillows close, inhaled the faint scent that was his soulmate’s, and cried for the umpteenth time that day.


	2. It's Not Easy Learning To Live Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yata's left to cope with the loss of his soulmate, but it's not going as well as anyone had hoped it would. 
> 
> _Burn._  
>  Just burn.

_ “Hey, what’s in your hand?” _

_ A hand clenching. “It’s nothing. Pretend you didn’t see it.” _

_ “Idiot! I already saw it! Tell me what it is!” _

_ “Why do you want to know?” _

_ “Because I want to know why the fuck you’re being quieter than usual! You’ve been staring off into space more than usual, too!” _

_ The hand relaxed and the box was placed in the other’s reluctantly. “Happy, now?” _

_ The box was opened, and a gasp. “What…? Why…?” _

_ “You wanted something like this, didn’t you? It was your dream or something back when we were eighteen.” _

_ “You remembered that!?” _

_ A soft chuckle. “Of course I did.” _

* * *

 

Another thing about having had Fushimi as a soulmate was that he really  _ did _ try to give everything he could offer. He worked hard despite Yata's pleas, and eventually they both managed to buy their small, albeit comfortable apartment at full-cost, purchase all the furniture and other luxury items they needed, and share one of the comfiest beds in the world – with their own money. No help, no loans, no nothing. It was their greatest achievement together.

The only downside about this apartment was that they only shared it for a year. 

It was still a year’s worth of memories of them though. 

Within those four walls held memories of childishness, of intimacy, of fights that never managed to sour their relationship.

Fushimi left a lot of things behind too, and Yata was too scared to  _ touch _ them, let alone put any of them away. Instead, he let the memories flood his mind and suffocate him nearly every minute of the day, and still held on to the hope that at any minute, Fushimi would walk right into the apartment with his usual amused smile and begin mocking Yata for being such a crybaby in front of so many people.

But two weeks since the funeral have gone by with no sign of his soulmate. 

Two more weeks of bearing the half-faded mark on his shoulder. 

Their mark was beautiful, to say the least. It was nothing intricate like Kusanagi’s and Awashima’s thorny rose, though; the only thing adorning their shoulders were a small pair of half-folded wings. It was a symbol of hope in their world. Of greater things to come.

Oh, how ironic it was for  _ them, _ to have to bear that sort of mark. 

Yata’s symbol is on his left shoulder, with the left wing faded and all too obvious in front of a mirror.

_ Why couldn’t it have been the other wing?  _

Yata hated seeing the mark. Hated having to take off his shirt and get into the shower, where it was in plain view. He desperately wanted to burn it off with any means possible but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to lose his most important connection to Fushimi.

So he kept it there and hid from the rest of the world, from anyone that might look at his mark and suddenly feel sorry for him. He had barely left the apartment since the night of the funeral. Kusanagi, who was his manager and friend, would call every now and then to try and check up on him, but he never gave him a reply. He never gave  _ anyone _ a reply. The watch would ring at all hours of the day and he never bothered to pick it up, never bothered to tell anyone that he was still alive and well.

Because he wasn’t.

* * *

  
_ “Sing me that lullaby again.” _

_ “… Why should I?” _

_ “Aw, cmon! You didn’t sing it yesterday even though you promised me you would. You know I love your singing…” _

_ A soft chuckle. “Is that all you love about me?” _

_ “Stupid, I love all of you.” a thousand-watt smile. _

_ Another smaller smile. “Fine, but it’s bedtime right after this, okay?” _

_ Ringing laughter. “Idiot, that’s the point of a lullaby, right?” _

* * *

 

Another week went by and Kusanagi came to visit, along with Totsuka. Yata had been absent for three weeks now at the bar, and nobody else knew their – his – address. 

They didn’t know what side of Yata they were going to see that day. Depression, anger, and hopelessness seemed to weigh down heavily in the air around the apartment. Yata reluctantly unlocked the deadbolt and let them come in - he had no choice, because he knew Kusanagi and he knew that he would drop by again every single day if he needed to. 

The apartment was clean and tidy, but Yata was looking worse and worse as the days went by. The light in his eyes had long disappeared, leaving dark, dark circles under them from lack of sleep. His skin was paler, his body thinner. His hair had grown out again, little by little beginning to resemble his hairstyle from ten or so years ago, before he had met any of the people he knew now.

Kusanagi and Totsuka walked in and closed the door, settling themselves in the chairs surrounding the small kitchen table and watching Yata curl into himself on the side of the couch farthest from them. The couch was facing away from the two of them and towards a television set that hadn’t been turned on in who knows how long.

Kusanagi was the first to speak.

“You need to go back to work.” He said, plainly and simply. “You can’t stay in here forever. You have bills to pay.”

Misaki didn’t answer, didn’t move. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he ate. Doesn’t remember the last night he  _ didn’t _ have a nightmare. Doesn’t remember the month and day, even.

“Yata,” Totsuka tried in a cheerful tone of voice. “Everyone misses you.”

“… I don’t care.” Yata spoke for the first time in weeks. His voice was rigid,  _ defeated _ , unlike before.

“Is it hard?” 

Totsuka’s question was simple, but it made Yata’s chest tighten involuntarily. He didn’t answer, didn’t allow them the satisfaction of knowing that they were getting to him.

“Do you think being like this will solve anything?”

Totsuka knew that he was pushing hard in all the wrong places. He knew that perfectly well, but Yata needed this, needed to get pushed in the right direction before it was too late. Three weeks alone and isolated was doing nothing to help him, and they all knew that.

Yata knew that, but he couldn’t care less.

_ If I died, I’d get to see Saru again. _

The thought danced across his mind more and more often nowadays, sometimes sounding like a threat and sometimes sounding like a peaceful lullaby.

It wasn’t like Fushimi’s lullaby, no. Nothing compared to his lullaby.

Tears welled up at the thought of the lullaby.

“Fushimi didn’t save you so you could lie around and waste the rest of your life, Yata.” Kusanagi sighed, unable to beat around the bush any longer. Sugarcoating his words wasn’t going to get them anywhere, either. “He helped you build this sanctuary, but you can’t lock yourself away in here forever.”

_ Fushimi. Fushimi, Fushimi, Fushimi. _

It was a name that felt too familiar and too foreign at the same time. A name that Yata wanted to hear more and more of, but also couldn’t bear to hear.

“Don’t,” Yata pleaded with a broken voice. “Don’t say his name.”

“Fushimi wants you to be happy.” Totsuka murmured, adding salt to the gaping wound. “Fushimi loved your smile, you know.”

Yata made a pained sound and curled into himself even more, resisting the urge to scratch at the skin right above his heart. A few days ago he couldn’t bear the pain anymore, but he also couldn’t bring himself to press a blade into his skin, so he had settled for the easiest thing to hide – scratch marks. On his chest. Nobody would see it, after all. “Stop.” Yata whispered, feeling the tingling feeling from his scratch marks begin to intensify. “Stop it.”

“No, Yata.” Kusanagi said.

“You need to stand up.” Totsuka added.

“Be quiet!” Yata bit his arm in an attempt to stop himself from lashing out at them. He didn’t want to hurt him. He was hurting, but they didn’t deserve to get hurt. Nobody did.

The two older males sighed. They knew that Yata was always going to be a child at heart, but they needed to make Yata give in somehow. To come to work and  _ interact _ with people. To make him realize that he isn’t as alone as he was feeling right that moment.

“Yata, we need you back.” Kusanagi said, only half-lying. They didn’t  _ need _ him at work, but they needed him to come back from the darkness that he had somehow surrounded himself in. 

The warmth of the sun that had spilled into the room seemed too hot, too  _ happy _ , and Yata didn’t like it - not one bit.

It made him angrier, seeing those rays of sunshine.

“Find someone else.”

Totsuka smiled sadly. “Yata… Anna misses you, you know. We all do. It’s not as fun without you.” 

A memory of Anna playing with him and Fushimi suddenly crossed his mind, and he bit back down on his arm. It was leaving marks, but he couldn’t possibly care any less. He wanted these feelings gone, gone,  _ gone _ . 

Totsuka kept pushing. “Kamamoto’s worried about you, too. We all are. You’re part of the HOMRA family, Yata. So let us take care of you.” He moved from the chair to the other side of the couch that Yata was curled up on in an attempt to coax the  _ real _ Yata out.

“Why do you guys even care?” Yata said coldly. “What do you even  _ want _ from me?” He didn’t know what to do anymore. The pain wasn’t going away. They were hurting him. What were they trying to get out of him? What did they think of him now? Was  _ he _ disappointing them? Is that what was going on?

“We want you to stop what you’re doing right now and  _ live _ .” Kusanagi answered, not moving from the kitchen.

Yata laughed bitterly, the same bitter laugh from the eulogy. “ _ Live _ ? What’s there to fucking live  _ for _ ?”

“For Fushimi.” Totsuka said, his smile never faltering as he scooted a little closer to Yata. “Live so that you’ll have a lot of stories to tell when you see him again.”

Yata fell silent again at the mention of his deceased soulmate’s name, and Totsuka took the opportunity to sit right next to him, barely close enough to touch.

Yata didn’t cry, no. He let Totsuka sit there, but he didn’t feel the warmth of Totsuka’s body. He didn’t feel the concern in their voices. He didn’t feel  _ anything  _ but the heavy and painful thoughts of Fushimi that were relentlessly fighting against his will to silence his mind – and winning.

“… Will you leave if I go to work tomorrow?” Yata murmured, tracing the bite marks on his arms delicately.  _ Leave, leave,  _ leave _. Just leave me alone already! _

Kusanagi simply chuckled before giving him the reply he’d been hoping for. “Yes, Yata. We will.”

He looked up his two visitors for the first time in the ten minutes that they’ve been there. There was no emotion to be seen in those amber eyes of his, no expression worth placing a name on. He just wanted them gone, wanted the solitude and the time alone to sit and wait for someone to come home. 

He finally said it, said the word he’d been biting back since the first second of their meeting. “Leave.” 

And they did so, but not without a pat on the shoulder and a cheerful goodbye before shutting the apartment door. The whole ordeal made Yata cringe, really. _ How are they so happy? _

_ Wait, no. Why is  _ everyone  _ so happy? _

Yata glanced at the wall clock and realized it was a little past seven. In his mind there was a click and suddenly the door was being quietly opened. Boots thudded against the floor and a coat was being taken off and hung on the coat rack by the door.

“I'm home.” A voice quietly spoke out to the only other person in the apartment. It was so soft, so  _ soothing _ , that he couldn’t help but grin.

Yata let out a content sigh and unwound himself completely. Shivers ran down his spine at the phrase.  _ I’m home _ .

It was a little past seven, a little past the time Fushimi  _ should _ have been home.

“Welcome home.” Yata murmured, not daring to look, to force himself back into reality. It was the only time he could hear Fushimi  _ come back _ to him, night after night, and the only time Yata would let himself cry away the pain – at least for a little while. 

“I missed you.” Yata would murmur to the cold, cold air every night as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

He wanted to believe that it was really Fushimi. The Fushimi that would drop onto the couch and bury his face in his laugh while starting to complain about his work. The Fushimi that would grumble about him putting way too many vegetables in their dinner. The Fushimi that would smile that heartwarming smile that he only ever showed Yata and Yata alone.

But who was he kidding? That voice, that  _ I’m home _ , it wasn’t Fushimi. Those echoes of complaints he'd hear every time around seven wasn't Fushimi. The ghost of a smile that used to be so heartwarming but now left nothing but gaping wounds in his very being wasn't Fushimi.

It’ll never be Fushimi.

* * *

 

_ “I found a really nice job at a bar. The people there are so nice, too, and I’m already friends with a lot of the regulars!” _

_ “You’re always making new friends.” _

_ “Well, yeah,” a sheepish smile; a warm embrace. “I gotta keep myself busy so that I’m not all sour when I come home.” _

_ “Are you implying something?” _

_ “I’m implying that you’re a sourpuss when you come home, yes.” _

_ “You’re a pain in the ass.” _

_ “You’re an even bigger pain in the ass.” _

_ A content sigh. “I’m  _ your _ pain in the ass.” _

_ A kiss on the top of their lover’s head. “Yes, yes you are, unfortunately.” _

* * *

 

Yata kept his promise and dragged himself to Bar HOMRA. Everyone was more than elated to see their friend back, but the way he carried himself worried them to no end. The usual shine in his eyes were absent, replaced by a dullness that they weren’t used to seeing. It was like Yata wasn’t actually… there. 

He worked through his usual eight hours, plastering an all-too-obvious fake smile on his face as he greeted anyone that walked in and helped them get settled with their finger foods and whatnot as soon as possible. He was a great employee overall; everyone loved him and especially loved having him around.

Today though… everyone, even the customers, knew he was faking his smile and cheerfulness. Nobody commented on it, but they all silently worried about him. They knew Yata was a fragile young man despite his loud and brash personality. He always wore his heart on his sleeve - could never hide his emotions well. If he was mad, everyone knew he was mad. If he was sad, everyone knew he was sad.

If he was happy, everyone could see the precious shine in his eyes that had attracted so many of their newer customers in the first place.

None of his co-workers brought up Fushimi that day. Truth be told, they all loved Fushimi; how he always made Yata’s smile shine even brighter, how he took care of Yata in the subtlest ways despite being closed-off and sometimes even rude to others, how he was protective when it came to his soulmate.

It was like Fushimi was the Sun and Yata was the Sunflower, and without the sunlight the flower was slowly withering,  _ dying _ .

“Yata!” Kusanagi called out to him right after his shift ended. “Stay here a while.”

His eyes turned icy behind the dull amber. “Why?”

Kusanagi managed a smile, but it looked almost sad. “Just hang out with us, Yata.”

“Why?” He asked again. He didn’t have the emotional energy to spark a conversation with anyone.  _ Saru’s going to be home soon, too, isn’t he? I still gotta get dinner started… _

Totsuka, who had a guitar perched on his lap, answered Yata’s question with another question. “How are you going to heal if you lock yourself in there all day?”

Yata looked at him incredulously before sighing and dropping into one of the booths in the far corner of the bar, away from Kusanagi and Totsuka and most of the other workers. He didn’t know why he bothered to stay. He didn’t need any healing. He was content with his life right now. 

At least, he thinks he is. Fushimi’s going to be home soon, isn’t he?

Kamamoto eventually made his way over to Yata and slid into the seat across from him. “Hey,” he said tentatively. “Want anything to eat?”

Yata shook his head no and stared at the wall. He felt a lot of eyes on him, but he couldn’t care less. The wound on his chest was starting to itch, as if begging to be scratched again. He wanted to scratch it, to satiate the sudden need to  _ feel _ , but he couldn’t, not in front of them. He can’t get them any more involved in this than they’re forcing themselves to be.

Kamamoto frowned. “How about something to drink?”

Yata shook his head again, his gaze fixed on a dent he found on the wall. A guitar began to play softly in the background, but Yata wasn’t fazed by it even when Totsuka started singing. Yata didn’t recognize the song, so he tuned it out and continued to stare. Someone had eventually swung by and given them both a glass of apple juice, but of course he didn’t touch it.

Yata couldn’t even bring himself to so much as  _ look _ at the glass of apple juice that Kamamoto pushed in his direction. It was one thing – aside from orange and grape juice – that Fushimi would always ask Yata for. He suddenly wondered just  _ how many _ jugs of apple juice they’ve gone through already since…  _ that _ , but shoved the question away immediately.

The booth’s seat cushion suddenly gave way to another body next to him, but he couldn’t care less about who decided to sit with him. Judging by how much the cushion actually shifted, it was most likely Anna or some person that was as thin as a twig.  _ Whatever, it’s not like them talking to me will do anything. _

It was Anna, of course, but she didn’t speak as she stared at his apple juice. The tension in the bar was higher than it has ever been, and suddenly the room was too hot, too  _ uncomfortable _ , and Yata just wanted to  _ get out _ of there. But Anna was blocking his only exit now, and he sat there silently cursing himself while Kamamoto, looked back and forth between the two, unsure of how to approach this new situation.

He kept on staring at the dent on the wall while Kamamoto, shifted uncomfortably from the seat across from him. Anna looked as if she wanted to speak, but didn’t say a word as she watched the drops of water slide down from the cold glass.

Totsuka’s singing had died down by then, drowning the bar in what felt like a staggering silence. It was only staggering to Yata, though because Yata was the only one that didn’t want to welcome the silence just yet, didn’t want Fushimi’s distant voice drifting in the air here.

HOMRA’s other workers were busy handling whoever was in the bar at that time, and Yata didn’t miss the curious glances they often shot his way. He was focused on that annoying dent but his mind was taking in everything else  _ but _ that.

Yata did eventually snatch the apple juice and drink almost half of it in one go, drinking it silently as if he weren’t drinking at all. Anna watched with careful eyes as Yata exhaled slowly before going to drink the rest of the juice.

“Misaki.” Anna was the only other person that Yata allowed to call him by his first name, the other one being – of course – his soulmate. However, at this point it was  _ technically _ just Anna that was allowed to call him that.

_ “Misaki, you suck at this game,” Fushimi chuckled, a light smile gracing his face as they stared at the television screen. One half was displaying the word “Winner!” in bold letters, while the other half sported the “Loser!” label in equally bold letters. _

Yata blinked back the sudden flashback and slowly turned to Anna, summoning his fake smile as he regarded her. “Yeah?”

“Your heart hurts.”

_ No shit.  _ “I’m alright, don’t worry.” He tried to smile, he really tried, but it was just so  _ fake _ , because why should he smile when all he wanted to do right now was go home and cook dinner for two?

Anna’s face scrunched up as if she was thinking really hard about something. Yata hated it when she did that; her being a clairvoyant usually meant that she was looking  _ into _ him, for something in him that he probably doesn’t see himself. It felt like an invasion of privacy sometimes, but right now  _ everything  _ seemed to feel like an invasion of privacy, even if their thoughts didn't even remotely involve him.

Anna's face almost immediately relaxed. The way she looked at Yata, though, told everything she wanted to say.

_ You're not getting better. _

Yata sighed. He really wanted to leave the bar, but Anna was refusing to move, despite him making a motion to exit the booth. Kamamoto still sat quietly at the other side of the booth, but his focus was on Anna.

Just then, a tall figure walked into the bar, having come from somewhere upstairs doing god knows what on his own. It was someone that Yata had idolized, but right now the sight of that man just made him want to jump over the booth’s table and run. He didn’t understand why he needed to run and hide from him, really. Was it because he was afraid of showing him this side of him? Or was it because of his distant memory of Fushimi mentioning not liking the guy at all?

"Yata." Mikoto said lazily, looking at him almost sympathetically. Well, it was  _ Mikoto’s _ version of sympathy, which still looked somewhat apathetic.

Yata gulped and greeted him quietly. "Hello, Mikoto." 

He turned to stare at the dent again, noticing the tension in the room rising even  _ higher,  _ if that were even possible at this point. 

Mikoto gave him one last long look before heading over to the couch that was by the bar's front door, and Anna stepped out of the booth to meet him. She situated herself next to Mikoto and sat there all prim and proper, looking somewhat like a doll. Her face was emotionless once again but her glances towards Yata betrayed some sort of sad expression.

_ You know who else's face was usually emotionless, though? Saruhiko’s. _

Yata tossed that thought – and the image of Fushimi's face – back and took the opportunity to leave the booth.

"Yata -" Kamamoto started, but stopped when Yata's eyes met his own. Misery and a tinge of anger was written all over his face – it was something completely foreign, almost as if it wasn't Yata that was in front of all of them.

But then again, was Yata  _ really _ there at all?

When Kamamoto had nothing else to say, Yata quietly strode to the bar and pulled out his skateboard from under the counter before leaving the establishment. A lot of eyes were on him, sure, but he was only focused on getting home as soon as possible.

He had dinner for two to make, after all.

* * *

_ "The beach sounds like a nice place to go this time of year." _

_ "But I have work, stupid." _

_ "Can't you take a day off? You've never taken a sick day  _ or _ a vacation day as far as I know." _

_ "…." A thoughtful frown. _

_ "So that's a yes, right?" Hopeful eyes. _

_ A defeated sigh. "Fine, but we’re bringing an umbrella. And I’m  _ not _ going to swim with you." _

_ “Aw, c’mon!”  _

* * *

Yata kept coming to work, but refused to stay after his shift to wind down. He had started to take longer shifts, though, and he was practically working almost eleven hours a day by the end of the first week since he had started working again. He’d take an hour-long break at six-thirty to make dinner at home (surely someone would starve themselves if he hadn't), then return to HOMRA for another few hours before finally going home for the night. He would arrive at around ten in the evening, cook and eat his dinner (for two), take a shower, and curl up in bed, sometimes hoping he'd die in his sleep and waking up utterly disappointed.

Anna was right; Yata really  _ wasn't _ getting any better. It wasn't like he was  _ trying _ to get better though, which was probably why Kusanagi refused to serve Yata any alcoholic beverages despite being legal of age.

He'd  _ maybe _ go to bed at around one in the morning, then wake up at around four, eat whatever was leftover from last night (Fushimi's portion of dinner), and finish his morning routine before sitting on the couch and flipping the television on to the crime drama that he often caught Fushimi watching. He never really understood what it was about, but it was  _ something _ that Fushimi had done, so it was something that Yata felt the need to do as well now. Something about continuing his life for him, he thought.

Watching crime dramas was probably a really bad thing for him to do, but he didn’t care. He would always flinch at the gunshot sounds and  _ maybe _ tear at his wound every time he heard one, but he didn’t care one bit. The pain felt nice, especially on nights when Fushimi would appear in his dreams. He knew the mark was probably going to get infected soon, but wouldn't that be alright in the end? Wouldn't that just put him days, hours,  _ minutes _ closer to seeing the man that meant the world -  _ was  _ and still  _ is _ \- to him?

He would watch an episode, and for the remainder of the early morning he would do his and Fushimi's chores, never daring to touch anything that he had left out. Fushimi's coat still remained on the rack next to the door, and despite Yata's desire to pull it off and wear it, he kept it there, just in case Fushimi would come in complaining that he was cold and needed something to warm him up.

_ But that's never going to happen again, now will it? _

Some things of Fushimi's that Yata  _ did _ touch, though, were his pillows and the sweatshirts, hoodies, and other long-sleeved and oversized apparel he would often wear during the winter – or at any time of year, for that matter. He put some of the sweaters and pillowcases in vacuum-sealed bags, too - an unconscious act of desire to retain Fushimi's unique scent even when Yata had grown old.

He'd also often light Fushimi's favorite gingerbread-scented candles in the morning. It was a seasonal candle, but Fushimi loved that scent enough to buy enough to last them an entire year – one for each room in the apartment. 

_ "… I thought you didn't like sweet scents?" Yata stared at the four bags of candles that Fushimi brought in just a moment go. _

_ He shrugged. "They were on sale, and they're not  _ that _ sweet. Besides," he smiled, "it reminds me of you." _

The gingerbread man's smile on the candle jar always seemed to mock Yata, almost as if it were laughing at him. When the candle wax would melt around the wick, Yata often stuck his finger in the liquid, savoring the soft burn it gave him. It only ever numbed his fingers, but sometimes he'd let them hover over the fire, enjoying the pain until it became too much to bear.

When he started doing that, he was nearly ecstatic to find that they didn't leave any noticeable marks. He'd only light one candle, but he'd play with it while watching the crime drama, letting the fire lick his fingers as the detectives dug around to solve a crime. When the inevitable gunshots would fire, he'd use that same hand to claw at the place above his chest.

It was pitiful, but it kept Yata from crying in the morning – therefore, it became as important of a daily activity for him as brushing his teeth was.

He often wondered what it'd be like to light  _ other  _ things on fire, though, but wouldn't allow himself to risk burning down the apartment – and everything Fushimi left behind.

Sometimes, he’d imagine having control over fire, and imagined the satisfaction of burning off the image on his left shoulder.

… However, he'd never be able to do that - no matter how many times the opportunity to mutilate the symbol was presented to him. Instead, he kept scratching at his chest when the candle trick wasn't a viable option to let off some of the pain. It was wrong – he  _ knew _ it was wrong - but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let himself get overwhelmed with the pain anymore.

Nights weren’t nice to Yata, either. Three or four hours a night was plenty for him as long as he didn’t see Fushimi in his dreams, but it was taking a toll on his body. He was also dimly aware of the possibility of developing insomnia - if he hasn’t already.

But he  _ wants _ to see Fushimi.  _ Needs _ to hear Fushimi. He needs to bicker with him, to play with him, to welcome him home with a smile after a long day of work. He needs to hear that door open and hear irritated grumbling. Needs to be able to run up and hug or nag him.

Most of all, though, Yata really wants to just have dinner with Fushimi in their perfect little home.

* * *

_ “... Again?” _

_ “Hey, what's so wrong with what I cooked?” _

_ “There are carrots in it.” _

_ An exasperated sigh. “So what? I'm trying to break your will to resist vegetables. So expect me to add vegetables to every meal.” _

_ “Are you trying to kill me, now?” _

_ “I'm trying to keep you  _ alive _ , actually.” _

_ “Are you, now?” _

_ A slap on the shoulder. “Of course! It'd be so lonely without you, ya know.” _

_ A click of the tongue. “Sap.” _

_ A warm smile. “Just for you.” _

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Yata said coldly as the door chimed and in walked Fushimi’s ex-manager.

Munakata was holding a small box, looking at him with a cool smile. His eyes seemed to pierce into him, making him all the more uncomfortable.

“I’m simply here to drop off some things.” Munakata replied, making his way to the bar island where Kusanagi was eyeing the box curiously.

“And what have we got here?” Kusanagi asked with a welcoming smile. “You hardly ever visit in the afternoons.”

“I felt that it’d be better if I visited during Yata’s shift.”

“Why?” It was Yata that asked. “What do you need me for?”

Munakata’s smile never faltered as he set the box onto the island and pushed it towards Yata. “It’s for you.”

“What is this, a pity present?” Yata’s voice was beginning to shake.  _ Why does everyone feel the need to give me things? What the fuck is that going to do? _

“I felt that it would be better to leave these in your care than have them thrown out.” Munakata replied with ease, motioning to the box. “Its contents are of no use to any of us at Scepter 4.” 

“Throw what out?” Kusanagi was about as intrigued as Yata was angry. Which was pretty angry, considering his feelings towards Munakata weren’t exactly  _ positive _ .

“Fushimi’s personal items.”

Yata’s expression turned to that of surprise as his entire body went stiff. “What?”

“Fushimi left a few personal things in his cubicle, and it would be a shame if they were thrown out to make room for the new employee.”

_ New employee. Right. Fushimi isn’t working there anymore. _ Yata’s eyes trailed to the box. It wasn’t that large at all – large enough for him to need both of his hands to hold it, sure, but it wasn’t like it was large enough to give him any sort of difficulty in carrying it. The box was taped shut and Yata ran a tentative hand over the seal.

_ Saruhiko’s things? _

It was more stuff to put in the already-cluttered apartment, but it was  _ Saruhiko’s _ things, so they had to be taken home and placed where Fushimi would probably place them.

Munakata watched Yata’s facial expression go from shock to longing, and stood up after having observed enough. He smiled one last time at Kusanagi before turning towards the exit. Before exiting, he looked back and looked right at Yata, smiling an all-knowing smile and speaking as if he knew exactly what was going on in his life. “Be mindful of what doors you decide to leave open, Yata.”

He walked out as Yata stared, dumbfounded yet again by the same man that Fushimi would always complained about knowing too much and having too much curiosity to be considered a normal human being.

“... Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Kusanagi murmured, patting Yata’s shoulder. “You only have a couple of hours left anyways. I’m sure you want to go through that box right now.”

“But – “

“No buts.” 

Yata looked at him in shock before slowly giving in. When Kusanagi says something, it's usually best to just listen to him. “Yeah… okay then.” he muttered, going behind the island to pick up his skateboard. “Is it… really okay?”

“Take it easy out there.” Kusanagi replied before he waved him off. “Don’t worry about making up the extra couple of hours.”

“Ah… okay.” Yata picked up the box and his skateboard before turning to walk away. He didn't want to leave. What if he had too much free time at home? He couldn't bear to deal with the echoes in his mind.  _ Misaki, where'd you put the laundry basket this time? Misaki, how many more ice cream cakes do you  _ need  _ this month? Misaki, come to bed now, I feel lonely… _

_ Misaki, I love you. I'm sorry for leaving you so soon. _

* * *

 

_ “Hey, wanna take a photo together?” _

_ A click of the tongue. “Why should I?” _

_ “Well… why not?” An embarrassed but endearing smile. _

_ “I don’t like photographs.” _

_ “Just this once! Aside from the wedding photo, we have  _ nothing _!” _

_ “I’m in my  _ pajamas _.”  _

_ “So? I am too! C’mon!” _

_ “….” _

* * *

 

Something about the box was bothering him to no end, and he couldn’t figure out why.

He skated back to the apartment with relative ease, and as he entered the apartment he let the skateboard fall into the apartment as he hastily set the box onto the kitchen table and brought out a knife to cut the seal.

He opened the flaps and peered into the box, curiosity and dread coiling around his chest. The contents were fairly plain - there were a couple of framed photos and his set of office supplies, including the stupid pen Yata had won at an arcade and given to him as a joke during their third date. Well, it wasn't  _ really  _ a date that time. They were sixteen when they finally met, but Fushimi was thick headed and thought that life would be better if he didn't let himself fall in love with his soulmate because it'd just end in pain and misery if he did so.

_ You know what? Maybe he was right all this time. _

“He kept that thing?” Regardless, Yata couldn’t help but laugh a little bitterly. He pulled out the office supplies and set them onto the table before pulling out the framed photos.

They were photos that were taken on Fushimi’s phone, apparently, because he wasn’t aware of the existence of any of them, nor was Fushimi in any of the three photos.

The setting in the first one reminded him of the first time he had dragged Fushimi to a fireworks festival, claiming that he just _ had to go _ because neither of them had ever gone to one in the seventeen years they were alive. It was literally a year and a half after they had met and their symbols had become whole. Fushimi was still intent on  _ not _ falling for Yata, but six months after that very festival he had finally managed to make him change his mind. 

It was a photo of Yata in an orange yukata with a monkey mask on the side of his head, chewing on cotton candy while looking at some game prizes from a shooting game.

“I look like a girl in this photo.” Yata muttered. His chest felt uncomfortably warm, though, and he put up a hand to rub at the wound that sat there.

The second one was a little blurry, but Yata recognized it immediately. It was a simple photo of Yata smiling like an idiot when Fushimi had given him his very first Christmas present. It was a scarf that he had until that very day, used again and again despite how worn it looked after the first two years. It was in their dresser right now, untouched for months.

_ “What the hell, Saru?” Yata laughed. “I didn’t think you were actually listening to me when I was complaining about losing my scarf.” _

_ “Of course I listened to you.” Fushimi smiled. “I always do, don’t I?” _

_ “Heh, not really.” _

Yata didn’t know if he loved or hated the sudden memory. Fushimi had been wearing that adoring smile of his that night - one of those rare, unguarded smiles that could only be seen once in a blue moon, because Fushimi wasn’t that much of a smiler. 

He set that frame down and pulled out the last one, shaking his head when he noticed how young they looked in the photo.

It was the photo Yata had pretty much forced him to take with him. He didn’t recognize himself at first, but it was him, and the boy taking up the other half of the photo was definitely Fushimi, frown and all. They were in front of what looked like the sea.

Yata didn’t even have a copy of this photo. He never knew where that camera went after their short trip to the hot springs near the city. Honestly, he completely forgot about that picture altogether.

It was so natural - Yata’s big grin and bright eyes next to a Fushimi that was obviously unhappy about something. 

It was so painful to look at.

The hand that had rubbed at the wound on his chest returned to it, scratching a little deeper than he intended to because it was getting so  _ painful _ to remember things from years’ past.

_ We could have had so much more, ya know? _

Yata pulled his hand away from the wound and reached up for his mark, trying so,  _ so _ hard not to dig in, not to ruin his and Fushimi’s physical bond with one another, but it was  _ so hard _ not to break it, not to free himself from it all.

He could never be free. If he ruined that mark now, it would never heal and he’d still be in pain. He’d only just ruin the beautiful image of two folded wings and potentially feel even  _ worse _ for what he has done. 

No, not potentially - he’d scar himself even  _ more  _ for having allowed himself to ruin such a beautiful image. He loved his wings despite everything. He felt like he could  _ fly _ with them. However, his wing felt clipped, broken,  _ nonexistent _ , because it wasn’t a whole pair anymore and he didn’t have the hope of revitalizing the faded half.

Everyone received their marks by the age of seven. If one were to stay blank by then, it meant they were a free soul - that they were allowed to bond with whomever they wanted. A match was determined by symmetry; if two people with incredibly similar marks were to find each other, then there was a probability that they could bond. Once that other half is filled in, it was up to the two of them to make things work - the soulmate system only determined compatibility, whether or not the pair was happy with each other completely depended on how they made it work. Once they had a soulmate, that had a soulmate; there was no going back once that mark was filled in.

Yat a had received his at exactly age seven. Fushimi at around three years old. They only found each other by chance when Yata sat down next to him at an internet cafe at the age of fourteen and the had felt that odd twinge that the soulmate system would use to indicate that a pair was near. They were the only two in the cafe at two in the morning, so of course Yata figured out who it was in an instant.

Fushimi, however, didn’t care one bit. Yata reached out for him regardless, and put a hand on the shoulder he  _ knew _ Fushimi’s half was on. Low and behold, the  twinge became a warmth on his own left shoulder, indicating that  _ yes _ , he indeed had just found his soulmate.

It took so long for them to get along, though. There were times when Yata wanted to give up, but then he’d just remember Fushimi’s tentative smile from when he had handed Fushimi a jacket to shield him from the cold one snowy night and he just kept going. Kept pushing, because who else would? Fushimi was so bent on being alone for the rest of his life that Yata doubted Fushimi would actually chase after him if he walked away. He kept going, and kept trying, and after enough arguments and enough tears and enough  _ why can’t you see how much I fucking love you? _ s, Fushimi finally saw it, finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel and chased after it with him, and it became a happy ending.

If only the story hadn’t ended abruptly.

* * *

_ “Hey, what do you want for your birthday?” _

_ “Nothing. I have you already.” _

_ “Heh. Stupid.” _

* * *

 

It was around mid-summer that people began to truly worry for Yata. He was still around for work, yes, but his socializing was kept at a minimum – he’d always just wave goodbye and leave, never once looking back despite being called out to multiple times. It was always the same excuse -  _ I need to make sure of something. _

Kusanagi watched closely as Yata sunk deeper and deeper, somehow still bent on the idea that Fushimi was coming home for dinner every night. He wasn’t a psychiatrist  _ or _ a therapist, but he was certain that Yata was suffering from  _ something  _ that was along the lines of depression, if not depression itself. It wasn’t obvious anymore, really. Not unless you knew Yata from when – and before, if you were lucky enough to know him that long – Fushimi was still around. Kusanagi personally only knew Yata from after he and Fushimi had bonded, but the difference between then and now was staggering.

Yata had managed to perfect his fake smile over the past couple of months, and how utterly  _ normal _ he looked to be nowadays was almost terrifying. 

There were also rare moments when Yata would pick up Totsuka’s guitar and strum a few chords, and anyone that knew him also knew that whenever he  _ did _ pick that guitar up, it was the same song over and over again. Yata never sang, but he’d always stare at his hands for a long amount of time before going back to work as if nothing happened.

Nobody dared to play that song around Yata.

Totsuka would sometimes video Yata playing the guitar, but he’d delete it almost immediately after seeing the cleverly hidden pain in Yata’s eyes as he strummed languidly. He had a lot of videos of Yata and Fushimi; taking videos was a hobby that he absolutely loved for the sake of keeping memories within reach. If anything, he really wanted to document all the good moments in everyone’s lives as much as he could. Nowadays, though, it seemed like he wasn’t able to get any of Yata’s happiness on video. He didn't have any good moments of Yata to record anymore.

He missed Yata’s smile – everyone did. Not the smile that said young man had grown accustomed to plastering on his face during work, but an actual,  _ heartfelt _ smile that always grabbed everyone’s attention.

It was early July now. Anna had begun to fret over Yata’s ‘fire’, always saying that it looked like it could die any minute –  _ that  _ he _ could die any minute. _

But they didn’t know how to help him.

“You know,” Totsuka spoke up one lazy night after watching Yata leave the bar. “He’s probably really scared of forgetting Fushimi, but doesn't know what to do to make it so that his thoughts don't hurt anymore.”

It was obvious, really. Why else would Yata go home to cook dinner, then return to work for a while and  _ then _ go back home to eat said dinner? Why else would he still play that single song as if he was a broken record? Why else would he stay late at work? The wedding ring was still snug on his finger, bright and shining as if it was brand new.

Everyone looked up at Totsuka in shock. Yata had somehow been a forbidden topic in the bar since his first day back; nobody ever dared to bring him up, not even once. Totsuka was right, though – Yata was stuck, unable to move on because of the fear of forgetting and at the same time drowning in the pain of his memories of Fushimi.

“So?” Kusanagi joined the conversation as if there wasn't anything to be surprised about. “What do you think we should do?”

Totsuka shrugged. “His birthday’s in a little over a week, though. Right?”

Kamamoto looked to Totsuka, who in turn smiled at him encouragingly. “... You know,” he started, looking back and forth between Kusanagi and Totsuka. “He probably needs to see Fushimi.”

It was Kamamoto now that was met by the eyes of everyone in the room. Mikoto, who had been napping the entire time, had even cracked an eye open to observe what was going on in the bar. There weren't any customers in that night, so everyone was free to relax until someone walked in.

“You’re right.” Eric sighed. “That bastard’s probably doing something bad to himself at home. And I don’t mean the kind of bad that I’m into.”

Chitose made a face. “What the hell man? We’re having a serious discussion here.”

Everyone had begun to discuss possible ways to cheer up Yata, but every single idea ran into a dead end. If anything, he’d simply shout and yell at everyone,  _ maybe _ beat up a couple of people, then leave right away. It was almost like disarming a ticking time bomb.

After ten minutes of tossing ideas out into the open, it went quiet as they all began to quickly run out of things to say.

“The videos.”

Anna’s voice was soft, tentative even. The idea really wasn’t a bad one, really, but there was simply no way to get Yata to sit down for ten minutes and watch a video of Fushimi.

Kusanagi looked to Totsuka, who looked back at him with a smile. “That’s a great idea, Anna.” Totsuka praised. “He’s not going to do it willingly, though, will he?”

“He might break the tapes.” Akagi deadpanned, frowning at the image of Yata doing such a thing. He'd done it before, when Totsuka waved a cd of Yata in a skirt after a game of truth or dare.

“He wouldn’t.” Totsuka laughed. “I think he’s been doing everything he can to keep Fushimi in his life. He wouldn’t break the tapes if they had Fushimi in them. Besides…” Totsuka’s smile softened. “Fushimi left something for Yata that’s in my care right now.”


	3. Maybe if I Believe Hard Enough, You'll Still Be Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the candle flames weren't enough to quell the pain in his heart.
> 
> Maybe it takes more pain. More deceiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Note: Like 10 sentences are happy.... I cried, but like I cry at everything so :'(   
> This chapter is 10k .-.

* * *

 

_“Where are we going today?”_

_“The arcade.”_

_A small laugh. “We’re a bit old for that, aren’t we?”_

_A smile to return. “We’re never too old for crane games, stupid.”_

* * *

 

Yata’s birthday fell on a Monday that year, and Mikoto had allowed Kusanagi to plan a one day trip to god knows _where_ exactly the Friday before. It was a ‘company outing’ of sorts; they told Yata, but it was evident that they were only just trying to cheer him up. It was supposedly mandatory, and the only information disclosed regarding this trip was the fact that it was at the beach.

He hated the idea of going to a beach. _So much._

It was a one-night trip, and Yata packed hardly anything. He brought a couple of thin button-up shirts and a regular tee - no way in _hell_ was he going to go shirtless _or_ in a tank top despite the searing heat that he was sure was to come. He brought a couple pairs of shorts and underpants and was pretty much ready to go that Thursday night.

“Ah, toothbrush…” Yata muttered as he looked back at all the clothes he threw onto his bed. It was nearing two in the morning, but the bar as going to be closed for the next two days so it wasn’t like he had work in the morning or anything. He padded over to the bathroom and reached for his toothbrush in the holder, avoiding the dark blue one that sat next to it. It was a brand new one, for Yata always made sure to change them every three months.

Once he retrieved his own red toothbrush and a small portable tube of toothpaste in the drawer under the sink, he packed everything into a large sling bag and tossed it near the door. They weren’t leaving until around ten in the morning, unfortunately, and they wouldn’t return until sometime in the afternoon the next day, much to his dismay.

He _really_ didn’t want to go, but was there a choice?

It was a quarter past two when he finally decided to settle into bed, but the moon was shining all-too-bright outside, reminding him of things he really didn’t want to - but also desperately wanted to - remember.

 _Misaki,_ he could hear him moaning into his ear. _Misaki._

* * *

 

_“How the hell did you get that sunburn?” Concern laced in every word._

_“I went to the beach. With you. Remember that? It was only yesterday.”_

_“I made sure to put sunscreen on you, didn’t I? You’re even under an umbrella!”_

_A click of the tongue. “Shut up.”_

_“Heh, you look like a tomato now though.”_

_“I_ said _, shut up!”_

_“Fine fine.” A soft peck on the cheek. “Whatever you say, tomato princess.”_

* * *

 

Yata woke up two hours later with a start.

Fushimi had appeared in his dream. Their marks were _whole_ . Yata keenly remembered tracing over Fushimi’s mark in that dream - and then it faded. _Both_ sides faded right under his fingertips.

He was shaking uncontrollably as he tried to control his breathing. Everything _hurt -_ his mark, his wound, his heart; it was as if nothing _wasn’t_ in pain.

_“Misaki, where are you?” Fushimi called out to him. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, Yata at the head and looking back at him. The mark on Fushimi’s right shoulder was whole, out there for the world to see._

_It was like it was only yesterday, when Yata had to deal with a Fushimi that absolutely refused to acknowledge the pair of wings that were so bold against his pale, pale skin._

_“I’m right behind you, stupid!” Yata was laughing as he climbed out from under the covers and crawled forward,  reached to tap his soulmate’s hand. “See?” He went to sit next to Fushimi, their marks brushing against each other. Yata was shorter than Fushimi, sure, but they still touched._

_“You’re not here, though.” Fushimi frowned as he turned to look at him. His brows were furrowed. “Where are you?”_

_“Saru, what are you talking about?” Something seemed off, and Yata knew it. He reached up to rub Fushimi’s mark with the pad of his thumb. “I’m right here.”_

_“You’re not here.”_

_Something like fear began to grip at his chest. His wound wasn’t there. Fushimi gunshot wound wasn’t anywhere to be seen, either. Yata forced himself to find comfort in tracing patterns onto Fushimi’s mark with his fingers, keeping quiet as he tried to force the negativity away._

_And then it happened. The mark had begun to fade from right under his fingertips. There was blood trickling down Fushimi’s chest, originating from the same area he was shot in._

_“Where are you?” Fushimi repeated again, eyes boring into Yata’s own. He wasn’t looking at Fushimi’s eyes, though. The night was bright and the blood was shining as it begun to stain the sheets. The mark was still slowly fading._

_And then the wound was there again. The wound he had inflicted on himself, right above his heart. It was bleeding, too. His fingertips were red with blood, which Yata could easily make out as his own._

_“Misaki, come here. Where are you?”_

Stop saying that. _Yata thought._ I'm right here.

_The mark had finished fading, and it was only then that Yata realized that even his own mark was completely faded, too._

_“Misaki, come here soon.”_

“What the hell?” Yata shuddered as the dream forced itself back into his mind. “What the _fuck_?”

He reached for the fabric around his shoulder and pulled it down hard. Some of the stitches snapped, but he didn’t care. He _really_ looked at the mark for possibly the first time in months, and couldn’t decide if he was relieved or angry at the fact that the mark wasn’t fully faded.

When he finished that thought, he let go of his shirt and went to pull it off, clenching his hair with his left hand while grabbing at his self-inflicted wound with his right, digging his nails in _hard_. He kicked the blanket off of himself in the sudden rush of delicious pain.

It hurt - it hurt _so much_ , but he dragged his nails harshly through the wound. The scabs easily broke off and sat under his nails as he pulled his hand away and back to the starting point, doing it _over_ and _over_ again until he began to drag his nails in another place, too.

He found himself scratching a little to the right of his chest now, where Fushimi had been shot all too long ago. The skin kept getting redder and redder as he forced his nails into his skin, forced himself to _bleed_.

The pain in his heart wasn’t fading. Tears were flowing down his cheeks from both the emotional and physical pain. He never felt this way before - was the candle treatment no longer helping him? Or was it just the sudden sight of Fushimi with those confused, _dead_ eyes that got to him? Either way, it was hurting him and it _wasn’t going away_.

At some point Yata stopped clawing at himself. His mind had gone blank and the shivers had finally calmed down. There was red smeared across his entire chest and stomach, and even his right hand was covered with the same dark, dark red. He felt nauseous as he pushed himself out of bed and into the bathroom, barely registering the drops of blood that dripped to the floor. The floor was swaying from under his feet and music was playing somewhere in the back of his mind.

It was a lot of blood. He managed peeled the rest of his clothes off and step into the shower, wincing in pain as the icy cold water started to beat down on his chest. He didn’t move; he simply stood there, staring at the opposite wall as the water washed the red away. He was still bleeding, still hurting, but he was strangely numb.

He knew he was in pain, knew he was hurting _way too much_ that night, but something akin to _peacefulness_ or _content_ was beginning to make its presence in the mess of emotions he was currently feeling. The wounds weren’t closing due because of the water, and for a few moments Yata really didn’t mind if he bled out right then and there.

_Saru, can I see you soon?_

That tiny thought gave way to another thought, to another moment in time where he had so desperately wanted to rip away at his mark and let himself drift away. For some reason, those same voices that had encouraged him to follow his soulmate in eternity began to whisper, to yell, and to scream at him, reminding him that _it’s okay to go_ and _he’ll be there when you arrive_ and Yata wanted so, _so_ desperately to give in to those voices, to find Fushimi and to _be_ with Fushimi.

_“Be mindful of what doors you decide to leave open, Yata.”_

He slammed Munakata’s words down and bit back a sob. _Doors? What doors? I’m trapped in a room that_ has _no doors._

He could just stop eating. Only make dinner for one - for _him_ \- from now on. Fushimi’s pain relievers were still in one of the kitchen drawers - just a little too much would send him to Fushimi, right? Hell, Fushimi had a _gun_ somewhere in his side of the closet…

Laughter began to bubble up from his throat, hoarse and painful but _joyous,_ and he was wheezing by the time he could calm down from his sudden high. _It’d be so easy. So, so easy._

Doors... what doors were left for him even to close, let alone _open_?

* * *

 

_“Hey, what time is it?”_

_A quiet yawn. “It’s a quarter ‘til ten. Why?”l_

_“Come watch a movie with me.”_

_“Why?”_

_“What, I can’t spend time with my husband anymore?”_

_A soft laugh. “Look at you, being the bigger sap now.”_

_A click of the tongue. “So?”_

_“Of course.”_

* * *

 

Yata wanted so badly to leave.

He never went back to bed that night. When he was done in the shower he had patted himself dry and threw the towel into the trash bin before going to bandage both of his wounds. They didn’t hurt anymore, but sometimes he’d see flashes of things he wanted desperately not to remember and they’d itch so, _so_ much.

Yata didn’t have any candles with him either. It’d be too much of a giveaway if he brought even the small tea candles. To be honest, he didn’t know how he was going to survive the night. He was rooming with Totsuka that night, and the thought of having to share a room with anyone _but_ Fushimi unnerved him to no end.

The ride to the beach house was uncomfortable; he sat with Kusanagi, Mikoto, Totsuka, and Anna in the car and though Totsuka had tried really hard to keep the air alive and happy, Yata wasn’t feeling any of it. Sometimes Kusanagi, who had been their driver, would interject, but the conversations never lasted more than a few minutes before it became silent again. Anna was always glancing at Yata, who had been forced to take the front seat. Everyone knew what was on her mind except for Yata, who had been much too busy staring out the window and wishing with every fiber of his being that he could roll the windows down and jump out of the car without a hitch.

The sun was too bright and the sand was too hot. Whoever was in charge of the beach towels had laid his down first, allowing him to drop onto it with a loud sigh. His towel was next to Totsuka’s - really, why was Totsuka always trying to be so close to him lately? - and they shared the umbrella that had been placed between them. Yata watched as everyone began removing their shirts, some immediately running into the water and others glancing back at him with worried looks before fully their own. It irritated Yata so much - those looks of slight fear and concern. _It was just a mark,_ he wanted to say. To believe.

He wanted to say that it was completely fine for them to remove them, but the words stuck in his throat every time he saw one. _Fuck, does_ everyone _have to show off their shoulders at the beach?_

Mikoto’s brilliant fire was even out in the open, next to Kusanagi’s rose. Kamamoto had a tiger on his, and hell - even Dewa and Chitose bore matching maple leaf patterns.

They were all whole. If they weren’t _whole_ , the other half wasn’t at least _faded_ \- a symbol of death in their system. Yata put a hand to his mark again, but resisted the urge to dig into it.

Anna was sitting with Mikoto a few paces ahead, with Kusanagi talking about something in a low enough pitch for Yata to not pick up. Totsuka was watching him, smiling as he did so, but something in his eyes told Yata that he wasn’t going to stop him if he wanted to do it. Totsuka was the only one aside from Yata with his shoulder still unexposed.

“Aren’t you hot?” Yata murmured, suddenly unable to look into his eyes.

He shrugged, humming a little. “I’d say the same for you.”

Yata clicked his tongue in annoyance - something he seemed to be doing more and more often lately - and stopped talking, instead focusing all his attention to the glistening sand by his feet. It was hot to touch and he all but glared at sunlight that was shining on his legs.

There was so much yelling as the day went by. Nobody attempted to pull Yata into the small little party like they used to do (well, it as more Yata pulling Fushimi into the chaos), and he couldn’t have had it any other way. The pang in his chest kept occurring at every glance of a soulmate mark - there were _so many_ around, and _so little_ that were already half faded like his. He felt lost, somehow. Like he didn’t belong there. Everything was too far out of reach for him, it seemed. The laughter, the smiles, and even the bantering seemed much too far away for him to join in on.

It was so irritating. Every now and then he’d tug at his shirt - not to cool himself off, but to prevent him from trying to scratch at his wounds out in public. The pain was just getting worse, it seemed. He’d hear voices from his past, asking him to go out and play with him, or to go and buy them ice cream down the street, but he didn’t listen to them, didn’t hear them in the chaos that his mind had subjected itself into.

“You can go back, you know.” Totsuka spoke to him around dinnertime. They were having a sort of barbecue out on the beach; Yata decided to have a slice of watermelon and nothing else. “Nobody’s going to ask you to stay if you don’t want to.”

He looked back at everyone. They were all absorbed in their own little world and here Yata was, so out-of-place that he wondered if he could have skipped out on all of this after all. Totsuka had spent the entire day filming everyone, from the beach volleyball match to the squirt gun war, to even the sand sculpture contest. Yata had no part in any of them, instead watching and waiting for another body to sit himself beside him, to complain that it was too fucking hot and that they should just ditch everyone and go get ice cream before going somewhere more cool and secluded.

None came. He vaguely wondered if he had left enough food for him at home so that he wouldn’t starve, and was content with the fact that either way, he had already bought enough microwave-ready meals at the store just last week to keep them alive for more than a few days. He would only be gone for one night, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe, sometimes.

But wait, wasn’t he here with him? He was probably feeling shitty due to the heat, too, so maybe it _was_ a good idea to head back for the night. It wasn’t like either of them were doing anything there, anyways.

Yata heeded Totsuka’s advice and, after grabbing a key from him, slipped away, heading for the beach house that they rented for the night. His bag felt heavy on his shoulder as he trudged his way down the quarter-mile strip of sand that was between him and temporary isolation. He almost tripped a couple of times but he somehow made it to the beach house in one piece.

None of the doors on the inside were locked, and after finding which room he’d share with Totsuka he immediately took a shower and settled under the covers. It was barely past nine in the evening - much too early for him to sleep, considering he was still on his one-to-four sleep schedule. He had somehow forgotten about bringing bandages for his wounds, and the friction between them and the shirt he was wearing was extremely uncomfortable. He tried to pull the shirt away, but his breathing coupled with the force of gravity would bring it back and leave Yata even more uncomfortable than before.

After giving up on trying to get comfortable in bed, he let himself stare out into the night sky. It was bright, like the night before, like the one in his dream. He didn’t realize he had begun to cry until his chest began to feel too tight to breathe. _Why am I crying, though?_

He let the tears fall under the illusion that he wasn’t with HOMRA right now, and that he was at home, under the covers of his _own_ bed, watching the night sky through his _own_ window. He hiccupped a couple of times but didn’t move, didn’t try to stop the tears from flowing as he choked from the memories that were still plaguing his tired mind.

“ _Why?_ ” Was all he could choke out. He didn’t know who or what the question was regarding. It was the only word he found himself thinking every damn night since that day. _Why?_

The bed shifted and suddenly the side of his body felt warm.

“It’s finally quiet.” Fushimi murmured into his chest. “Let’s go to sleep now.”

Despite what was going on, Yata laughed, suddenly relieved to hear _something_ familiar and _warm_. Unconsciously, he reached under his shirt to scratch at his older wound, a small smile forming behind the tears that were still rolling their way down. “Yeah, let’s.”

The night and following day felt like a blur of blue, blues eyes and dark, messy hair as he listened to Fushimi complain about wanting to go home already, and if it weren’t for Yata’s random bouts of laughter or moments where he’d talk or reach out to absolutely nothing, it wouldn’t be obvious that he was quickly (too, _too_ quickly) becoming perfectly content with his play-pretend world.

_This door, I’ll always keep open._

* * *

 

_“Close the curtains, would you?”_

_“No, I’m reading.”_

_“Wow, the idiot’s actually reading. That’s new.”_

_A playful smack. “Shut up!”_

_“Fine, fine.” A tired sigh. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”_

_Reaching out for a hand. “No, stay… I’m almost done, okay?”_

_Careful contemplation. “Fine, but hurry. It’s already past midnight.”_

_A beaming smile. “Yeah!”_

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure what was right with the world anymore.

There were moments where he’d look at something and imagine how he could use that to see Fushimi again, but then they’d be slammed down by the thought of Fushimi being there by his side right that moment. It was confusing, but Fushimi’s voice was calm and adoring when he spoke.

“We’re out of rice.” Fushimi called out to Yata as the latter lounged around on the chair. He groaned, wishing that Fushimi hadn’t brought up leaving the house at all that day. It’s the day before his birthday, for crying out loud! Rest was all that he wanted; was that so hard to ask for?

“Do we have to get it _now_?” he complained, refusing to get up from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah, or else you won’t have anything to eat later.” Came Fushimi’s calm reply.

“We have plenty to eat, thank you very much.” He huffed. “You’re just not imaginative.”

“You’re going to starve this way.” He could almost imagine Fushimi shaking his head at Yata in dissatisfaction.

“We won’t starve! Why are you so bent on going to the store, anyways?”

“You were complaining about running out of food, remember?”

Yata threw his hands up. “Fine, fine!” After a moment of muttering incoherent profanities, he finally got up too quickly change into something a little more presentable (but still comfortable), grabbing his PDA and wallet in the process before heading out of the apartment. He was ready and out of the house in almost four minutes flat. The sun was too hot, and he vaguely wondered if Fushimi was doing alright in the heat.

“I’m fine,” Fushimi mumbled as if reading his mind. The grocery store was just down the street from their apartment, so it didn’t take too long before the rush of cold air hit his face, and the scent of fresh vegetables wafted into his nostrils. He picked up a grocery basket and began to walk around, aware of the fact that the basket was going to get relatively heavy but nonetheless decided not to grab the cart since he already had the basket in his hands.

 _Curry._ He thought almost immediately. _He likes curry. And hamburgers. Maybe some junk food would be nice, too._

He went straight for the meat section, picking up particular slices and grabbing himself up a packet of meatballs in the process. “I should get you a veggie burger.” he laughed as he picked up a pack of them, reading the ingredients swiftly before placing it back and grabbing an all-beef pack instead. There were loud footsteps behind him, but he ignored them, hoping that they’d just go away as soon as possible.

The blue uniform that was reflected in the mirror that sat somewhere above Yata and the meat display, though, told him that they probably weren’t going to go away anytime soon.

“Oya?”

Yata froze. _No no no, please don’t be -_

“Good afternoon, Yata.” Munakata’s voice was close, _too close_ , and when Yata whipped around to look at him, he was less than a meter away, holding his own basket of groceries.

“Why are you here?” Yata asked, biting back the malice that wanted to creep into his voice.

“I’m just grocery shopping.” He smiled. _Where’d Saru go?_

“Okay, then.” Yata mumbled, turning to head to the vegetables section. “Saru, let’s hit the snack aisle later, okay?” He didn’t get a reply, but Munakata made some kind of disapproving sound and shook his head, causing Yata to turn and glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Munakata’s smile this time around sent shivers down his spine. “Something interesting just happened, that’s all.”

Yata rolled his eyes. “What am I, an exhibit?”

“Not quite. But...” Munakata trailed off and looked at Yata’s basket. “That’s quite a lot for one person.”

“One? There’s two of us.” He replied immediately.

“Oh?”

Yata’s mind went abruptly blank when he realized what Munakata was saying. _One person? That can’t be._

“Yeah. Two.” Yata reiterated, taking a step towards the vegetables. “Though I doubt he’ll eat the vegetables.”

“Hmm.”

“What now!?” Yata snapped, his glare turning to daggers. “What about me is so _entertaining_ to you?”

“It’s not _you_ that’s entertaining, per se.” Munakata seemed mildly amused by something, but Yata couldn’t figure out _what_. “It’s the ghost of you that is.”

“What the fuck are you talking about now?” He was yelling, aware that people were watching them argue in front of a fucking meat cooler, but still! What the hell was wrong with this guy? How does Fushimi put up with him on a daily basis?

“That’s a question you should answer yourself, Yata.” Munakata shifted his basket onto another hand, and Yata briefly glimpsed a couple cans of cola.

_Right, Saru would want some more of that._

“Whatever.” Yata muttered before trudging towards the vegetables, leaving Munakata to do whatever the hell he needed to do.

He absentmindedly began picking up the vegetables he knew by heart, and it wasn’t long before he found himself with a heavy basket and barely enough room for some chips and a chocolate bar. In his other hand was a 12-pack of cola that was sure to disappear by the end of next week, if not sooner.

The cashier rang him up and he quickly paid, leaving without a single word as Munakata’s words left footsteps to some godawful dead end in his mind. His wounds were beginning to itch again, and he was getting increasingly irritated by the moment due to his inability to scratch at them. He couldn’t wait to dump all of the groceries into their respective places and take care of the weird feeling in his chest.

“Just ignore it.” Fushimi muttered, pertaining to the conversation with Munakata earlier. “He’s always like that.”

“I can tell.” Yata mumbled, still unable to get the words out of his head. The more he thought, though, the more his wounds itched. Not only that, but the scent of gingerbread seemed to come out of nowhere too, reminding him of a candle he forgot to put out.

He arrived home and let the door automatically click shut as he opened the refrigerator doors, stuffing everything in their appropriate places. And tossing the grocery bags into the bin. It wasn’t time to make dinner yet, so he settled back onto the couch and grabbed the candle, dipping his fingers into it and sighing as the itch in his chest began to fade a little.

_Ghost, eh?_

He watched the flame lick his finger, finding comfort when it came too close to the heart of it. His mind began to blank out, replaced by the sudden drive to take a shower and get dinner started regardless of the time.

Once he felt content with the numbness that came from performing that activity, he put the fire out by pinching it and set the glass onto the table. He didn’t hear a shower running, so he went and took a quick one before walking out in nothing but a shirt and a pair of boxers, aware of the fact that Fushimi would probably scold him the moment he saw Yata.

 _Oh well_. He scratched at one of his wounds lightly, picking at the scab as he pulled out the things he needed to start dinner.

“... Ah, fuck!” He grimaced at the empty rice box. “Of all things to forget?”

* * *

 

_“What do you think happens when we die?”_

_“We turn into corpses, of course.”_

_“Stupid! I mean like… an afterlife. Do you think it exists?”_

_A sigh. “I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t care, either, though.”_

_Arms were thrown out to either side, their body falling into another’s embrace. “I hope we become guardian angels or something. Like for kids or something, even for a while.”_

_“... did you want a kid_ that _badly?” arms wrapping around the other._

_“I’m happy being with you.” a content sigh. “But someday, I’d love to get to play with a kid we could call our own.”_

_“... do you regret it?”_

_“Regret what?”_

_“Finding me and becoming my soulmate.”_

_Chuckling. “Of course not.”_

* * *

 

If there were one thing Yata _wasn’t_ later that evening, it would probably be seeing Kusanagi, Totsuka, and Anna at his doorstep at eleven in the evening.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Yata asked incredulously, biting back the urge to slam the door in their faces. The familiar scent of gingerbread wafted through the door, a grim reminder that a candle was burning, _wasting_ . “It’s eleven in the fucking _evening_.”

He took the next day off because he always did so. His and Fushimi’s birthdays were the only days they took off on a regular basis because Yata loved giving Fushimi the _best birthday ever_ and Fushimi loved spoiling Yata senseless at least once a year.

“Did you eat yet?” Kusanagi completely ignored his question and let himself, along with the other two, into the cozy apartment. It looked pretty much exactly same as the last time they visited.

“Of course, I did.” _Wasn’t it obvious? There are even leftovers right on the table._

“Hmm.” Totsuka looked around the room while Anna took a seat on the couch. Yata could feel his patience slowly withering away.

“Take a seat,” Kusanagi smiled at him. It was unsettling, and Yata wanted nothing more than to shove them all out of the apartment right then and there. But he obeyed because Kusanagi was his friend and friends didn’t only kick each other out of the house.

The wounds started to beg for his attention, but he kept his arms down to avoid being found out. He sat as far away as possible, and it was only then that he noticed the small bag that Totsuka had over his shoulder.

He groaned. “Please don’t tell me you’re spending the night here.”

“We’re not!” Totsuka laughed, his eyes alight with something close to mischief. “It’s just…. A present from us, I guess you can call it.”

Yata looked at him incredulously. “What the hell?” _Why did you come at such a late time to give me a present? It’s not even my birthday yet, for fuck’s sake!_

“Just…” Kusanagi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just accept it. I think you’ll appreciate it.”

Yata scowled at the three of them, but took a seat at the other corner of the couch, as far away from Anna – and the others – as possible. Something felt wrong about this situation. The look in Kusanagi’s eyes looked _sad_ almost, and Totsuka’s had begun to reflect the same thing.

 _I need my candle._ He thought angrily. _I need to feel something, fast._ Said candle was still burning on the coffee table in front of him and Anna, but he didn’t dare reach out for it, didn’t allow them the sight of his new favorite past-time.

Yata felt trapped in his own apartment. He can’t just leave, nor could he kick out his visitors, either. Instead, he settled with pinching the inner part of his wrist while he watched as Totsuka slowly made his way to the DVD player and fumbled around with its settings. He didn’t bother helping, because Totsuka was great at figuring things out. He didn’t need him.

Nobody needed him.

The thought that he could probably disappear and have someone easily replace him sent shivers down to the wound on his chest. _I could be with Saru sooner that way, right?_

It sounded like a great idea to Yata, and he couldn’t wait to dwell on it even _more_ later that night. _But first of all…_

Totsuka had finished setting up the television and the player, and pulled out three different CD cases from his bag. “I have an extra copy of all of these too, I’ll leave them on the table later. But that’s all I have, so don’t ruin any of them!” Totsuka said, smiling at Yata. “There’s also something else I need to give you, but that’s something for later.”

The _look_ Totsuka gave him after saying that made Yata feel sick. There was so much tension in the room, and it felt hot, hot, _hot_ , despite the room being at about 20 degrees Celsius – Fushimi’s favorite temperature. He looked to Kusanagi, who was seated on the kitchen table. His shades were on, and at the angle Yata was at he couldn’t deduce any sort of feeling from Kusanagi’s face. Anna was silent and - seemingly - emotionless as usual on the other side of the couch.

He read the clock on the television. _11:24PM_.

Totsuka looked at the clock too, as if counting something, and hit play when the clock struck _11:27:40_. He slowly made his way to the seat across from Kusanagi. The video started to play, and Yata felt his heart sink when he realized that it was a video of his first day at HOMRA.

“It’s alright.” He heard Fushimi say from somewhere next to him. “I’m here, remember?”

“Heh, yeah, you’re right.” Yata murmured. He pulled his knees to his chest and watched with tired eyes, hoping that this would end quickly and that he could play with the candle soon.

* * *

 

_“Yo!” Yata beamed at the camera. “What’s this for, am I still being interviewed?” He laughed._

_“No, no!” the camera operator - Totsuka – laughed. “It’s just a hobby of mine!”_

_“Ah, is that so?” Yata made his way to the back of the bar and stuck his skateboard there, setting his backpack right on top of it. “So, what’s up? We don’t open for another thirty minutes, right?”_

_“Yup!”_

_“So?”_

_“So what?”_

_“Why am I here so early?”_

_“Oh! Because… well…”_

_A sudden thud and the camera swiveled to meet the rest of HOMRA’s employees, holding a large ‘Welcome, Yata!’ banner with smiling faces. Yata was standing at the edge of the screen, but his wide eyes were visible as he didn’t bother hiding the smile that lit up his face._

_“What the hell?” He laughed. “What’s this?”_

_“It’s a welcome party, silly.” Totsuka laughed._

_Yata shook his head. “What the hell, guys…” but he was still smiling. In an instant, he looked back at his new co-workers and said smile became a smile that put the sun to shame. “Thank you guys!”_

_“Hey hey, the cake!” someone shouted from behind the banner._

_“Oh, right!” another voice answered. Suddenly a guy with purple sunglasses – Kusanagi – appeared from somewhere behind the camera operator, holding a cake in his hands. “Here you go! Strawberries and cream, courtesy of Totsuka and Anna!”_

_Everyone cheered as they began to slice the cake._

* * *

 

“See?” That wasn’t so bad.” Fushimi’s laugh was light, _too_ light, and Yata couldn’t help but shudder.

“… Why are you making me watch this?” Yata mumbled to nobody in particular as he watched himself grin and stumble around on the large television.

“Just keep watching.” Kusanagi replied at the same time Fushimi was chuckling while murmuring “You look like an idiot.”

Totsuka secretly grabbed Yata’s PDA from the side of the couch and began tinkering with it, making sure to hide whatever he was doing Yata. He wasn’t sure about this, but it felt like something that would help Yata in the long run. Hopefully.

Totsuka waited for the data transfer to finish before sneaking it back to where it was initially sitting at. Yata didn’t even flinch when Totsuka accidentally brushed his hand against his arm.

_Couldn’t even bother to notice me taking your PDA, huh?_

* * *

 

_“Coming right u- whoa!” Yata nearly tripped over a small child’s doll. It was a random day in HOMRA; Yata was still a new employee and was still trying to get the hang of things, but he never stopped smiling throughout. “Sorry about that!” He apologized to the kid as he handed her the doll. She beamed at him._

_“Yata! Table two!” Kamamoto said, placing a place on the bar. HOMRA was the kind of bar that was family-friendly until 8 pm, serving as a sort of small café in the mornings and afternoons._

_Yata put the plate on a tray and waltzed out and towards a table by the window. “Here you are!” he smiled, earning a smile from the man that was seated there._

_“He’s really good at this, huh?” Kusanagi remarked from somewhere off the screen._

_“He’s a good kid.” Mikoto chuckled._

* * *

 

Yata didn’t want to see any more of this.

The look on Anna’s face when he turned to look at her told him that this was something important, and he couldn’t – shouldn’t – look away yet.

Fushimi has disappeared somewhere between the time the last scene played and the next scene started, making Yata feel even more uneasy as the night dragged on. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked back at the screen, aware that there was a pair of eyes on him in the room - though he didn’t know whose.

Fushimi would have clicked his tongue and turned the television off at this point, and maybe he’d complain a lot about how everything was a waste of time and that they should be going to sleep soon. He _would have_ , but the television was still on, the video was still playing, and a Yata from about a year ago was still smiling like an idiot.

The clock read _11:34_.

* * *

 

_“Yata, it’s closing time!” Kusanagi called out from behind the bar. He was polishing some glassware._

_“One second!” Yata answered from somewhere off the screen. Kusanagi sighed._

_“Come on, Yata, we all want to go home. You were supposed to leave_ hours _ago.”_

_“No, I wasn’t! I had to make up work today because I was sick, remember?” Yata finally appeared, sticking his tongue out childishly. “Besides, I still have plenty of energy! Just lemme finish cleaning, okay?”_

_Kusanagi sighed again. “You’re going to get sick again from overworking yourself. Don’t you have someone waiting for you at home?”_

_The look on Yata’s face was of pure love and adoration. “Yeah… I do.” He reached up to touch his symbol. “He’s probably worried about me by now too, huh?”_

_Kusanagi snorted. “See? You should get some rest. You could’ve made up those hours gradually, ya know.”_

_“I know, I know, but… I dunno.” Yata smiled sheepishly. “I guess I just like working here is all.”_

_“I’m glad to hear that.” Kusanagi laughed._

_The door suddenly opened; Yata turned to look at who had just opened it – and was probably about to tell them that they were closing for the night – but nearly dropped his rag when he saw who had just walked into the bar._

_“Saruhiko!”_

* * *

 

Yata’s breath hitched at his voice calling out Fushimi’s name.

_No. No, no, no, no._

There he was, there _Fushimi_ was, holding the door open with a bored expression on his face as he assessed the current state of the bar. It wasn’t dirty by any means – just a little cluttered with cleaning supplies. Yata was in the middle of it all, smiling stupidly.

Ah no. Fushimi was somewhere in the apartment. He shouldn’t be upset over this. Maybe Fushimi just went to bed ahead of him like he sometimes did. Then, a few minutes later, he’d call out to Yata in his tired voice and ask that he hurry and go to bed too.

“Saru…” Yata whispered, clenching his fists. He didn’t want to see what happened next. This was too much. Maybe that’s why Fushimi went to bed ahead of him.

But why wasn’t he calling for Yata right now?

* * *

 

_“Fushimi, be a little nicer to Yata!” Kusanagi scolded Yata’s soulmate after he had apparently said something rude. “Look at the poor guy.”_

_“He’s not poor,” Fushimi said, clicking his tongue. He was sitting on a bar stool, waiting for Yata to call it finally a night. “I’d have left him if we ended up weak.”_

_“That’s not how you talk about your soulmate, Fushimi…” Totsuka’s voice drifted from behind the camera._

_“What’s going on?” Yata popped in with a bowl of fried rice in his hand._

_“Ah, nothing,” Kusanagi smirked while Fushimi slicked his tongue. “Your sweetheart here’s having difficulty expressing his feelings again.”_

_“Oh, Saru’s always like that.” Yata laughed, setting the rice on the counter. “He’s an asshole. You wouldn’t be_ lieve _how much trouble I had to go through just for him to accept me.” He smirked._

_“Why did my soulmate have to be an idiot?” Fushimi muttered, earning a light smack on the back of his head by Yata._

_“Hey! You’re pretty stupid too, you know!”_

_“Oh, really?”_

_“Yeah! Fucking vegetable hater.”_

_“At least I drink my milk.” Fushimi turned his body to face Yata, who was behind him with his hands on his hips and glaring at him._

_“Oh, shut up about the milk thing! I’m not as thin as a toothpick now, am I?”_

_“I’m not as short as a middle school student, now am I?” Fushimi countered._

_Yata huffed. “I’ll have you know that my height is fairly average, thank you very much! You’re all just freakishly tall!”_

_“I’ll be taking that as a compliment.” Fushimi seemed to smile at Yata, causing the latter’s face to go from being angry to being shocked._

_“Like a married couple.” An off-camera voice – it belonged to Eric - said._

_“Well, they_ are _, technically.” Another voice – Chitose – answered._

_Everyone laughed as Yata looked at them in bewilderment and Fushimi settled with a bored expression yet again._

* * *

 

 _Stop._ He wanted to scream. _Stop it! Turn it off, turn it off!_

However, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from Fushimi’s face. He seemed too _natural_ , for some reason. Like he was supposed to be there and not here.

_No, he’s still here. He needs to be here. I need him here._

He was silently begging for Fushimi’s voice to tell him to go to bed, but it never came. The candle kept burning in front of him, flickering now and then. The scent too much for his senses.

Something was wrong, but what was it? It wasn’t like he didn’t remember any of these moments. It wasn’t like he was going to _forget_ them anytime soon, either.

Yata’s PDA buzzed. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have gotten a model that mirrored Fushimi’s. Maybe he should have kept the PDA-watch active instead of leaving it in the nightstand drawer along with Fushimi’s own PDA. He glanced at the PDA and, after reading that it was from his mother, turned it over so that he wouldn’t see the screen anymore.

He just needed Fushimi’s name to appear on that screen - that was all.

 _11:41_.

* * *

 

_It was Kusanagi’s birthday earlier that week, so they had a small party that Friday. There weren’t any decorations, per se, but Kusanagi had let the alcohol become a free-for-all, so long as they could make it home in one piece later that night._

_Totsuka – or whoever the cameraman was that night – had set the camera down, where it recorded Yata and Fushimi over at a booth in the corner. Yata’s arms were folded on the table while Fushimi leaned against an arm. Yata was bobbing his head to a tune that wasn’t audible from the camera’s position, but it still caught the smile that spread across Yata’s face when Fushimi mumbled something. He got up slowly and grabbed the glass of wine that was set in front of him, downing it in one go._

_“Stupid!” Yata was obviously yelling, but it sounded faint. He pushed Fushimi out of the booth and went to stand next to him. Fushimi didn’t look drunk, but he looked exhausted nonetheless._

_“Kusanagi, can I get some water?” Yata asked as he steered Fushimi towards the bar island._

_“Of course.” The duo had made it out of the camera’s sight._

* * *

 

He watched in dead silence as the videos shifted from focusing on random HOMRA antics to those of the few times that Fushimi bothered staying with him there to relax.

It was funny how many times Fushimi went to HOMRA after work despite hating the place.

 _It’s because you’re there, that’s all_ . He would always say, though he would never look him in the eyes when he did so. _Just hurry up so we can go home._

Really, Fushimi just enjoyed walking back with Yata every afternoon, but he never could admit that to Yata. He only found out about it when Awashima sometimes tagged along to see her own soulmate and talked about how Fushimi’s eyes seemed to light up a little whenever she asked him if she could come with him to HOMRA.

It was cute, how Fushimi would always try to hide these tiny little ‘things that made him happy’. Yata could name so many others, like listening to his heartbeat on a particularly romantic evening, or grabbing Yata’s pinky finger and holding it like a child would whenever it was too hot to intertwine their fingers together, or even something simple as letting Yata dry his hair with a blow-dryer when the apartment was a little too cold and Fushimi was feeling a bit more sluggish than normal.

It was endearing, all these tiny things.

So why did Yata suddenly feel like he _missed_ them like he couldn’t ever do them again?

11:44.

* * *

 

_“Kamamoto, truth or dare?” Akagi challenged the larger male._

_“Dare!” Kamamoto grinned._

_“I dare you to…” Akagi looked around the room for something. “Sit on Yata!”_

_The glare they both received from Fushimi was menacing, but after a sheepish grin from Yata he seemed to calm down enough to at least click his tongue irritatedly and look away from everyone. Kamamoto went to sit on Yata._

_“Oof!” Yata gasped. “You’re heavy, damn!”_

_“Eh? Sorry, Yata…” Kamamoto frowned. “Want me to get off?”_

_“Nah, I can handle it!” Yata was smiling again. “I’m strong, ya know!”_

_Akagi smirked. “You can get off whenever you want to. Besides,” he glanced at the figure in the corner, “Fushimi might not like it if you broke his husband.”_

_Yata went beet red. “Hey! I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much!” he huffed._

_“Yata, truth or dare?” Kamamoto asked._

_“Dare!”_

_“Go home!”_

_“Why? It’s not even dark yet!” Yata protested._

_“Fushimi’s all sad and sulking.” Akagi joked, though the look on his face said that he was half-convinced that what he just said was true. “Take him home and spend some time together. You’ve been working way too much overtime lately.”_

_Two glasses clinked together somewhere off of the screen. “That’s actually a good idea.” Kusanagi remarked. “Seri and I hate a date later, too…”_

_“At ten in the evening?” Yata asked incredulous. “It’s a Tuesday though!”_

_“It’s never too late to be with my sweetheart.” Kusanagi laughed. “Now hurry and go home.”_

_Yata shoved Kamamoto off of his lap and looked at Fushimi, whose attention was on a glass of grape juice in front of him. “Do you wanna go home now, Saru?”_

_“I don’t care,” Fushimi mumbled, taking a sip of his juice. “Just go play.”_

_Yata was frowning. “Okay, one more round, and we’ll go okay? Saru, truth or dare?”_

_Fushimi turned to fix a glare towards his soulmate. “What?”_

_“Truth or dare!”_

_“... Dare.”_

_Yata laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t say no just now. I dare you to…” Yata thought a little. “How about_ you _sit on my lap?’_

_Fushimi’s eyes widened in shock. “Ha?”_

_“Come on!” He patted his lap. “Right here.” His smile was warm as he invited Fushimi to sit on him._

_Fushimi downed the rest of his juice and went to sit on Yata’s lap, albeit reluctantly. “Can we go now?”_

_Yata was laughing, cheeks pink from embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah.”_

_Fushimi got off almost immediately and began fixing his blue coat. Yata followed, grabbing his skateboard and bag from somewhere off the screen and meeting Fushimi at the doorstep._

_He turned to wave goodbye at everyone. “See ya tomorrow!”_

_“Later!” Kusanagi called out right before the bell chimed._

* * *

 

“Heh.” Yata huffed. _It was so obvious he wanted to go home. He would have_ never _sat on my lap if he didn’t._

Even Totsuka chuckled a little during the video. Kusanagi was smiling and Anna had broken her usual demeanor and allowed some humor to light up her eyes.

 _I should play truth or dare with Saruhiko later._ Yata thought, imagining all the stupid things they’d do if it were just the two of them. What kind of crazy things would they get into? Certainly it’d be things that should only be done privately, and the thought of Fushimi daring Yata to do something weird like wear cat ears during sex or eat a spoonful of the ice that had accumulated in the freezer made him laugh a little.

11:55.

* * *

 

 _“Saru, it’s_ Sprite _with vodka, not_ Coke _.”_

_“Tastes the same to me.”_

_Yata sighed. “I work a t a bar, so trust me, would you?”_

_“Just because you work at a bar doesn’t mean you’re automatically better than me at discerning what kinds of beverages go well with certain types of alcohol.”_

_Yata threw his hands up in exasperation. “What’s with you? Do you even drink alcohol?”_

_“Not as often as you, probably.”_

_“I don’t drink alcohol at work, stupid.”_

_“So your stupidity was actually you when you’re sober? Does that mean you’re a moron when drunk?”_

_Yata punched him lightly on the arm. “Why do you always have to make fun of me?”_

_“Why not?”_

_He sighed loudly. “Here I thought you loved me…”_

_“I do,” Fushimi chuckled, “but I’m not going to pretend you’re smart just because I do.”_

_“Hey!”_

* * *

 

11:58.

Something was squeezing Yata’s chest to the point that he was having trouble breathing properly - but he didn’t know _why_.

“I can’t.” Yata managed to choke out through the pain that had suddenly greeted him. “I can’t watch any more of this.” _Saru, hurry up and call me for bed so that I can leave them!_

“Misaki.” Anna’s voice was quiet but strong. “We’re almost there.”

“Almost where!?” Yata yelled, snapping his head to the side to glance at everyone in the room. “Why the fuck are you making me watch this, anyways? Just let me… let me go see Saru now, would you? Can’t you just leave and let me go to bed with him now?”

Kusanagi’s smile was almost sympathetic - sad, even. “Yata, look at the screen.”

11:59.

“Why should I!?” Yata screamed. “I don’t get the point of watching these in the first place! So what if I fought with Saru a few times at HOMRA? I wasn’t a terrible employee for that, was I? I’m not a bad husband, am I? What the fuck did I do wrong? Tell me what I’m even _here_ for!”

Totsuka huffed, a smile barely gracing his lips. “For this.”

“ _For what_ ?” He wanted to punch something so badly right now. Maybe if he made a loud enough sound Fushimi would walk out of the bedroom and demand that they leave. _Yeah, that’s a good plan._

“Misaki.” A voice that was too foreign and too familiar suddenly cut through his tantrum. Yata’s breath hitched as those three syllables reverberated around the room, and he threw all of his focus back onto the television set in front of him.

Fushimi looked back at him – at the younger him - with a smile.

The clock struck midnight.

* * *

_“Happy birthday to you,” Fushimi sang in the privacy of HOMRA’s doorstep. Everyone was partying inside, but Fushimi wanted a break and Yata had suggested that they take a break outside. For whatever reason, whoever was holding the camera was outside as well, in what seemed like a faraway place. The video looked zoomed in but Fushimi’s voice was crisp and clear in the quiet summer air. “Happy birthday to you.”_

_He kissed the top of Yata’s head, causing the birthday boy to sputter and smack the side of his head. “Stupid!”_

_“Happy birthday dear Misaki,” Fushimi sang while laughing. “Happy birthday to you.”_

_“What the hell was that for?”_

_“What, am I not allowed to greet my soulmate happy birthday?”_

_“We’re in public! You kissed me in public!”_

_“Yeah, so?”_

_“That’s embarrassing!”_

_“Only for a virgin like you.”_

_“Hah!” Yata laughed, burying his face in the crook of Fushimi’s chest._

_“… I love you.” It was barely audible, but the video camera managed to capture Yata’s soft voice._

_Fushimi put an arm around Yata and smiled. “I love you too, idiot.”_

* * *

“... Saru?” Yata’s tears wouldn’t fall, but they were there. They’ve always been there. _Saru said happy birthday to me. And that he loves me._

Something inside Yata was slowly crumbling. Something felt really, _really_ wrong. _Saru, where are you, really?_

The video stopped a little after the younger Yata had been pulled in for an uncharacteristically affectionate hug. Anna kept her attention on the screen while Kusanagi and Totsuka watched Yata carefully.

It was now 12:02.

“Happy birthday, Yata.” Kusanagi smiled. Yata didn’t move, didn’t make any sort of notion to acknowledge his greeting. Kusanagi stood up and tapped on Anna’s shoulder. “We should leave now.”

“But Misaki-“ Anna begun to protest.

“It’s okay.” Totsuka assured her. “He’ll be okay. Besides,” he looked to the two discs that were out and ready to be put into the player. “Yata has two more things to look at, and it’s not something we should see.”

Kusanagi allowed Anna to get up on her own, and she looked back at Yata with a small smile. “Happy birthday.”

_Happy? Me, happy? Fuck you all!_

Totsuka sighed. “Happy Birthday Yata, and be sure to watch those. It’s… you’ll understand why once you do.”

 _Why the fuck would I?_ He wasn’t sure if he was angry or sad – probably both, mixed in with the tiredness that had seemed to latch onto him months ago.

Totsuka seemed to hear Yata’s question loud and clear as he answered it with confidence. “Don’t you want to see Fushimi again?”

Yata bit back a reply while he watched the door close with a soft click and lock itself. See Fushimi? Fuck, he was in the other room. He could see him anytime he wanted to! What was Totsuka even trying to tell him?

He turned and stared at the DVD player and the two open disc cases in front of it. _Two more? Really?_

Yata was tired. His chest itched. He really shouldn’t push himself by watching the last two videos. Fushimi was waiting for him.

_But… Saruhiko’s there… he’s alive in those videos._

Wait, no. He’s here, right now. He’s alive in those videos, yes, but _he’s still here_. The bedroom light was on, so of course Fushimi was there, probably reading some lame article or getting some extra work done so he could spend more time with him later in the morning.

With that thought alone to spur him on, he got up from the couch and shakily ejected the first disc, placing the one with the tiny number two written in black marker inside the player.

“Why am I doing this to myself?” Yata sighed as he waited for the disc to read. “Saru, are you sure you don’t want to watch?” He called out, but received no reply. Maybe he was asleep already and forgot to turn the light off again. Maybe he was too busy working to answer him properly. _Or maybe he’s not even there._

He shoved that thought down. That can’t be, right?

The sight of the CD cases made his heart hurt for some reason, and he was dimly aware that something was just _off_. Something in the back of his mind told him to stop, to turn the CD player off and break the godforsaken discs. Another voice told him to keep going, to keep watching. To keep hurting. Why was he in pain, though? These were just memories that were caught on tape. Not like he couldn’t make any more new ones. Right?

He hit play on the player and trudged back to his previous spot on the couch, once again bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. He briefly wondered if he should go ahead and play with the candle, but thought against it for he was already semi-comfortable as he was. The candle still sat in front of him, its wick almost completely burned out. _So much for that one._

The CD played and almost immediately the right-sided wound began to flare in pain.

* * *

 

 _“Misaki, it’s time to go.” Fushimi mumbled, glancing at the clock. It was well past midnight and Yata was_ still _taking to Kusanagi about God knows what._

_“Why are you so eager to leave?” Yata muttered, glaring at him._

_“I have work in the morning.”_

_“Then go home!”_

_There was an awkward silence as Yata slowly registered what he just said._

_“I-I didn’t mean that, Saru. I –“_

_“Save it for someone who cares.” Fushimi’s voice was icy as he turned and left HOMRA._

_“Saru! Wait!” Yata yelled, rushing to catch up to Fushimi._

* * *

 

_Saru, stop! I’m sorry, okay? Slow down!_

_Saru, cmon, let’s go this way instead. Why not!? Come on…_

_Maybe this direction was a bad idea. It seems really shady. Hey, there’s a ramen place! Wanna get some?_

_Hey! Don’t pu -_

... What was Yata trying to say? What happened that night after the clip? Why did he remember these strips of dialogue so suddenly?

“Saru?” Yata whispered. Something was wrong wrong _wrong,_ and it terrified him. Seriously, though, what was with that video? _Why did they have to show me the video of Fushimi’s last night? Why?_

Last night…? No, that wasn’t his last night. What was he thinking?

“This is stupid.” Yata mumbled. “Why bother with a video of us fighting?”

However, things were slowly beginning to click in his mind, and Yata almost wished he had gone and picked up the candle, maybe even throw it onto the ground and pick up the glass shards with his bare hands.

_Last night? That couldn’t be, right?_

But why else wouldn’t Fushimi be calling out to him by then? Why else was half of his homemade dinner never touched? Why else was the voice in his head telling him to _go_ , to see Fushimi? Why else was the Caloriemate in their cabinet _still_ uneaten? Hell, the laundry basket was all his own clothes - not a single article of Fushimi’s lay in there used... not a single one in months.

His mind was reeling from the sudden information. Fushimi had always been there, hadn’t he? The night at the beach, the warmth at his side… he didn’t imagine it, right? The bantering at the grocery store - that wasn’t fake, was it?

_No! Let me believe. Let me believe, god damnit!_

He had Fushimi. He can’t let go of him. No way! He even made sure to catch up to those stupid crime dramas he even -

_Bang._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Note:  
> Good luck one more chapter to go. Unless Shae wants to avoid the ending again aha. -but like if you're not crying then I don't know what to say.... :,(


	4. You Were Here The Entire Time, Weren't You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There's a reason why haves only_ fade _and not_ disappear _, Misaki._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... I really hope you guys paid attention to some tiny details from the earlier chapters, or else this might be a weird turn of events for you.   
> Most (if not all, I can't tell) of this is unbeta'd. This is a really crappy ending, so if you want to stop reading and let your imagination give it a greater one it's strongly recommended you do.

* * *

_Soulmates are bonded together, but you should know that already... right?_

_I mean,_ you _were the one that told me that over and over again after all, Misaki._

* * *

 “Why do you want to go this way?” Fushimi grumbled, unable to keep the scowl off of his face as his eyes darted from side to side, watching for any danger.

Yata shrugged, trying not to fidget as his thoughts kept circling back to their small fight earlier. “I thought it’d be nice to take the long way home sometimes.”

That doesn’t mean we have to take _this_ street.”

“What’s so bad about it?” Yata’s eyes were wide with curiosity as he looked up towards Fushimi’s frowning face. It was hard acting like they hadn’t just had a fight a few minutes ago, but they’ve had enough in the past for them to know that they’d get over it before they reached home.

Their fights never lasted long.

“There have been a lot of reports about thugs around here.” He muttered, risking a quick glance towards Yata before looking out for danger again.

Yata stopped in his tracks. “Well _shit_ , Saruhiko, let’s turn back then!”

Fushimi turned back to look at Yata quizzically. “We’re already almost home, and you want to turn back _now_?”

Yata shrugged. “You’re not comfortable. I know you’re sour because you’ve been wanting to go home for the past few hours but still…”

Fushimi sighed and stood in front of Yata. “It’s okay.” He murmured. “I’m… sorry about getting mad earlier.”

Yata managed a tight smile before tugging Fushimi back. “I’m sorry too, Saru. So let’s just… go where it’s safe, okay?”

Fushimi exhaled; there was no way he was going to win this without starting another argument. His eyes flicked around the street again before he agreed to walk back. “Are you sure about this, Misaki?”

“Of course!” His smile was warm as he held Fushimi’s hand. “I want you to be comfortable, and who knows what else is around here, right?”

There was a crash and a woman suddenly appeared from an alley across the street. Fushimi noticed the way she seemed to radiate with fear and immediately stood protectively between the alley and Yata.

“Get back here!” Another voice called, and another person appeared from the alley - a man dressed in dark attire, most likely a robber of sorts. He grabbed onto the woman and that’s when Fushimi noticed the flash of silver in the man’s hand.

He tugged hard on Yata’s hand. “We need to go.”

“But the woman…” Yata was struggling against his flight instinct and his perpetual need to help other people. She needed help, and he guu definitely can’t win two against one!

“Misaki, we don’t have the _time_ -”

Before Fushimi could finish his sentence, the woman seemed to have started fighting back considering the amount of noise they were making. He whirled around, ready to push Yata back so that they could escape unnoticed.

“Saru…” Yata stepped to his right, ready to run into the fight. “We have to help!”

The silver item was being waved around, a finger on the trigger. “Misaki, no!” Fushimi shouted, pushing Yata with all his strength, and right before Yata could so much as _begin_ to protest -

a shot rang through the air.

* * *

  _Even after one dies, they wait for their soulmate to join them so that when one is ready to be reborn the other will know where to go._

_The memories will be gone... but the instinct will still be there._

* * *

_Hollow_.

That’s what Yata felt like right now. After the gunshot and the sudden rush of _that_ memory flooding his mind , everything just became _hollow_.

It wasn't like he didn't feel the pain in his heart, no. Everything just felt numb, like he wasn't even keenly aware of the fact that Fushimi was gone, that the small gestures and the warmth by his side was nothing but a figment of his own imagination, that he had been making up the person that was next to him the entire time. Somewhere in his mind he knew that Fushimi wasn't there, but something was telling him that it'd be better to think that he was, that he wasn't a ghost of his past.

He knew Fushimi wasn't there, he really did - but it hurt so much that he would rather keep up the lies and keep imagining his soulmate by his side, with his soulmate mark full and stronger than ever.

It wouldn't hurt anyone if he kept up this small lie, right?

So he had kept lying, kept believing that the memory was nothing but a bad dream, and spent his birthday under the covers in _his_ warmth, not caring about the lack of a birthday cake on the table or the television not being set to some shitty channel they wouldn't be paying attention to anyways. He talked and talked about how much of a waste it was that they were indoors, but he was sore and he didn't sleep yet so it was probably better that he stay in bed since he had work the next day.

 _If_ he went to work the next day, that is.

"We should go somewhere." Yata murmured. "Somewhere far away, just the two of us. Just for a little while."

 _But where would we go?_ The voice asked, tentative and calm and warm all at the same time.

"I don't know." Yata chuckled, vaguely feeling his heart being squeezed painfully. "Do you have anywhere in mind?"

It was quiet for a moment. _I might._

"Then let's go there." Yata decided. "Where is it, though?"

The voice didn't answer. The fake warmth by his side wasn't as warm as it was a moment ago. The light outside was dimming, welcoming the night.

"Happy birthday to me." Yata suddenly murmured, turning onto his back so he could stare at the ceiling. He scratched his chest absentmindedly, wincing as the scabs peeled off bit by bit. "And..." _many more to come?_ The thought of a gunshot flashed through his mind and he smiled wryly. _It's a one-way ticket to home._ He thought, a laugh escaping his chapped lips. "Home, home," he sang as he dug deeper into his skin, "I'm going _home_..."

He shut his eyes and let the darkness of his mind pull him into another dream, another image of a gunshot and Fushimi, except this time the barrel was pointed right in-between Yata's eyes.

Out of habit, Yata woke up too early the next morning and checked his PDA for the first time in a while. There were happy birthday messages and fourteen missed calls, along with a couple of spam emails and a notification of a new audio clip. Nothing remotely interesting, so he cleared the notifications, turned the PDA off, and sighed loudly, dragging his tired body through the usual morning routine and finally scowling at the last gingerbread scented candle in the cupboard.

"Christmas is so far away, too." He muttered darkly before taking the lighter and dragging the flame over the pad of his left forefinger. It wasn't enough to satiate his need to _feel_ , but it was enough to get food ready for his trip later.

He got a cup of coffee ready and downed it in one go, ignoring the burning sensation on his tongue and washing the cup right away. He didn't make much - just a couple of sandwiches and his 'famous' Yata-fried rice. It was enough, though, because Fushimi never really ate much anyways. He left the apartment at precisely nine in the morning with their food in his backpack, and headed out. _Screw going to work,_ he thought with a frown.

"Where to?" Yata asked, looking both ways of the street.

 _Just follow me._ There it was again, the voice that could never match Fushimi's but it sounded so much like Fushimi's that it was easily to forget that it wasn't. Yata followed the quiet instructions that danced across his mind until he somehow landed at the train station. He paid for two tickets and boarded the train, standing close to the exit because Fushimi hated being anywhere _but_ there. He was told to exit after seven stops, and Yata almost wished he didn't follow, didn't allow himself to step onto the station that was too close to _him_.

The gates were too high for Yata's comfort. The cherry blossom trees were too bare, too _dead_ looking. The stones shined too bright, the birds were too loud, and the morning sun was too warm. His thoughts were suddenly quiet, and Yata could only laugh weakly at the stone structure right in front of him. His wounds tingled with the need to be scratched but he kept his hands down, too caught up in the storm inside his mind to comprehend the voice in his head telling him to hurt, hurt,  _hurt_.

"Why?" Yata whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. It was getting harder and harder to keep his hands in place. "Why are we here?"

 _Because_ , the voice was too cold, too warm, and too comforting all at once, _it's Misaki's turn_.

"Turn? To do what?" Yata couldn't look at the... the _thing_... that was in front of him. "What's going on, Saru?"

He didn’t answer for a long time. The breeze ruffled Yata’s hair and it almost reminded him of when Fushimi would play with it, and suddenly his heart was breaking again - but it felt so much worse this time.

_Accept the past._

* * *

  _It’s stupid, honestly. Humans are very selfish creatures. When we die young, we want nothing else but the company of our one true love - and that’s the terrible part about us._

_We want them badly. So badly that we’re even willing to coax them into an early death just so that we can satisfy our own desires._

* * *

"Tatara." Anna had been quiet all day, lost in thought as the clock ticked and Yata was nowhere to be seen.  

Totsuka smiled and patted Anna's head. "It's alright." Totsuka sang. "Let him have the day off today."

"But," Anna protested, raising her arm to pull at Totsuka's sleeve, "Misaki's...."

He laughed suddenly, causing all the others to look at him with worry etched in their eyes. "It's okay." His soulmate mark tingled slightly, reminding him that it really _will_ be okay, because Fushimi _isn't_ gone.

He'll help Yata soon.

 _Because that's what soulmates are for._ He thought, rubbing at his mark in careful circles. _This is proof of that._

"He has someone helping him." he continued, voice reassuring yet still uncertain. "If Fushimi really loves him, he'll help him."

"What do you mean?" Anna asked, eyes filled with curiosity. She was still too young to understand what _having_ a soulmate meant, nevermind what _losing_ one was truly like.

"He's a good person." He patted her head one last time and stood, walking off towards Kusanagi who was smiling sympathetically at the both of them. He picked up the guitar and began strumming a lullaby that would have torn Yata apart the moment he heard it. "Have faith in him."

"In who?" Dewa asked, feeling self-conscious for butting into the conversation but curious nonetheless. Everyone wanted an answer to that question - even the customers that had tuned into the conversation peeked towards Totsuka’s direction.

Totsuka simply smiled.

* * *

_Sometimes they’ll hesitate though, and maybe that’s how you know they truly love you. They have the power to do so many things to their soulmate._

_To hesitate between suicide and letting them truly live - that’s love._

_Because deep down they want to be with them_ so badly _and at the same time they want them to truly be happy - to live long and to tell them of all their adventures when they’re finally reunited._

* * *

It was ten thirty in the morning. Yata was late for work and he completely forgot to notify Kusanagi. He could turn back right now and forget that he ever set foot in this place. He could go to work and apologize for being late and continue the day like nothing happened.

But looking at the grave in front of him, he knew that it wasn't something he should do.

 _Saruhiko._ Yata thought, repeating the word in his head like a mantra. The word was comforting yet painful, like a campfire on a cold day and he was sitting just a little too close to the flame.

"Saruhiko." he whispered when he could no longer count the number of times he thought that name. It rolled off of his tongue with a sweet and bitter taste.

_It's okay._

That voice. That voice was the same voice he heard in after the funeral. That same voice that tried to get him to go to work and eat healthy and sleep on time. That wasn't his made-up Fushimi's voice. It wasn't his own voice, either.

However, it suddenly became crystal clear that it was _Saruhiko's_ , the same Saruhiko that wouldn't allow their bond to bloom at age fifteen. The Saruhiko that wouldn't marry Yata until they were twenty. The Saruhiko that nobody _really knew_ but _him_.

He was _Fushimi Saruhiko_ , but the voice was _his_ _Saruhiko_ , with no guard, no wariness in his voice. It was the voice that lulled Yata to sleep some nights and reprimanded him every day for whatever reason he could find. The voice that was filled with love and concern towards him and apathy towards others.

Yata shook his head; none of this made sense. He knew he was lying to himself by allowing himself to believe that Fushimi was still there, still alive and well, but something else was in his mind, something warm and bright and terrifying all at the same time.

"I don't get it." His voice cracked. "Saru, _none_ of this makes sense."

_Let go._

"No!" Yata shouted, wrapping his hands around his stomach and sinking to his knees, desperate to keep the voice there and to keep Fushimi - _any_ Fushimi - with him. _I'm keeping you here, whether you like it or not!_

The breeze turned chilly despite the warmth of the sun. _Wasn't it July? Why was it so cold?_

"Saru, where are you?" Yata whispered. "Show me."

It was quiet, the birds were chirping and the grass was still cold from the previous night. Tears pricked his eyes and his throat constricted; his heart was being squeezed so hard he thought it'd burst. Yata looked up, _finally_ looked up, and stared at the letters etched into the stone and the framed photo of a man clad in a dark grey shirt, arm around a shorter man and looking like they were the happiest couple on Earth.

_In memory of Fushimi Saruhiko._

Yata slumped forward and fell against the pillar, head barely missing the framed photo as he choked back the sobs that were begging to be released.

"You're not gone." Yata whispered, a stray tear running down his cheek. "You're _right next to me_."

The voice wasn't replying anymore, and suddenly _everything_ seemed too cold now.

"Come on." Yata murmured, "I don't feel like playing hide-n-seek, Saru."

One moment, two moments, three moments later, and the voice finally spoke again, but it was too warm, too _happy_.

_It's okay, Misaki._

* * *

  _And that’s the purpose of these marks. To connect. To bond._

_We’re not gone. We just borrowed a bit of our mark so that we can still be connected, that’s all._

_I can’t touch or see you anymore, but I can still hear you and you can still hear me, so let’s make the most of that._

_Okay?_

* * *

“This is bad.” Akagi muttered, pacing back and forth in the bar. “Wasn’t he supposed to come in _today_?”

Kusanagi hummed in thought. “He’ll come back.”

“What makes you think that?” He stopped to stare at Kusanagi. He had been angry about this entire situation for some time now _._ “I’m done beating around the bush. We all know he’s not okay.”

The bar was quiet.

“He hasn’t been okay for _months_ . When was the last time he actually _laughed_ ? When was the last time he picked up the guitar and _sang_ ?” Akagi seemed desperate for an answer that was impossible to give. He was close to tears at the sudden memories of every single day he had to watch Yata - the _real_ Yata - slowly disappear from right in front of his eyes. Nobody wanted to remember, wanted to bring up the problem, wanted to trip a wire and cause Yata to explode. It was tearing them apart just as much as Yata was tearing himself apart, and Akagi couldn’t watch any longer.

“He doesn’t deserve this.” Akagi murmured. “He doesn’t fucking deserve _any_ of this.”

“What can you do to help?” Eric muttered, matching the anger in Akagi’s voice. “What the fuck are we supposed to do if we don’t even know how he’s going to react? For all we know he could fucking kill himself in front of all of us if we make the wrong move!”

They were all silent as the words sank in deep. It wasn’t unnatural for someone with a broken bond to commit suicide; it happened too often with the younger ones, because honestly - who would want to spend the rest of their lives without their soulmate? Especially someone as bright and bubbly as Yata - it was torture having to live every day with the knowledge that he can’t come home to his beloved anymore.

“Something! _Anything_ !” Akagi yelled, turning to the rest of his audience. They had all gathered around the couch when operating hours closed, unwilling to leave and unwilling to bring up the reason behind the heavy atmosphere that had been plaguing the place for _months_ now.

“Kusanagi, Totsuka, and Anna already tried!” Eric shouted, standing up from his spot on a nearby chair. “Where the hell did _that_ leave us?”

“Then _keep trying_.” Akagi growled, clenching his fists. “I’m not letting him die like Fushimi had to.”

Kusanagi sighed, glad that Anna had already gone to bed upstairs. “We can only wait now. You know that.”

“I don’t want to wait!” So much could happen in a minute - a _second_ , even. The bags under Yata’s eyes and the way his physique seemed to be more bone than body was too much to have to see every day. “What if - “

“Stop.” Totsuka clucked his tongue, wagging a finger at Akagi. “We don’t need to dwell in the what-ifs now, do we?”

Akagi’s whole body trembled as he shook his head. “I just need to know he’s okay.”

“We all know he’s not.” Totsuka didn’t skip a beat in replying. “He hasn’t been.”

“Then..” Akagi shuddered. “ _Alive._ I just need to see him alive.”

“And he is.” Totsuka reassured him. “Trust him.”

But even Totsuka’s voice was wavering, unsure of the future even as he said those words to Akagi and everyone else in the room.

* * *

_So Misaki, be happy for me. Live long for me. Smile for me._

_I’m sorry for taking so long to make up my mind._

* * *

He doesn’t remember what time he got home or how he even _made_ it home. All he could remember was Fushimi’s voice, telling him that it’s okay and to accept what had happened and to _live_ \- and yet, even as that voice told him all those kinds of things, it still had an air of hesitation and it only served to confuse him even more.

 _I just want to see you again._ Yata thought over and over again. _Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!_

Yata couldn’t even bring himself to summon up the fake warmth that should’ve been Fushimi’s warmth as he lie in bed once again, his chest both heavy and light as he tried to wade through the thoughts in his head. There was so much going on and yet it was so little at the same time. He could literally hear his heart and mind battling against the fake image of Fushimi in his mind, could hear himself denying that Fushimi was gone even though he just visited his grave. His mind tried hard to convince him that it was just a joke, that Fushimi was going to walk through the door and laugh at him for believing he was dead.

But Yata always listened to his heart, and now that his mind was finally starting to lose the battle he could all too clearly see his own stupidity as he tried for months to piece together a Fushimi recreated from his memories.

His fingertips tingled as he recalled the times he would burn himself, just to feel _something_ ,  _anything._ His chest burned with the need to hurt and he lightly rubbed it absentmindedly.

He remembered the nights where he imagined Fushimi’s emergency gun pointed to his heart or head and dreamt of the day he would finally pull the trigger and finally find himself in front of Fushimi once again.

Mistakes came crashing down on him like rain, and with each passing second he felt worse and worse about himself.

 _I should really just die already_. Yata mused, letting the thought of a point-blank gunshot ring through his mind. _I’ve made enough mistakes for a lifetime anyways._

_To err is human, to forgive divine._

Something spoke to him and Yata shot up, looking around frantically for that voice. It was there again, that little voice that meant _so much_ to him. He looked and looked before suddenly realizing that it wasn’t something he heard from his _ears_ , but rather his _mind_.

 _Saru?_ Yata whispered in his thoughts.

 _Misaki_. Came that voice, too familiar and too warm. Yata tried desperately to hold back the tears that suddenly wanted to fall again, choking back a sob as everything came crashing down on him.

 _I’m not making this up, right?_ Yata thought to himself desperately. _I don’t want this to be a lie._

Still, it was too good to be true, so it _had_ to be a lie, right? _What a fucked up mind I have._

_Stop lying to yourself, Misaki._

He shook his head violently. _No no no, you’re going to leave if I do!_

 _I won’t._ It paused. _Not anymore._

His mind went blank for a moment as Yata recalled everything; the voice at the funeral, the voice in his head aside from the one that only _sounded_ like it, and the voice now… they were all the same person.

They were all Fushimi.

Months of pain surged through his entire body and he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore as he fell back onto the bed. He cried, cried for all the time wasted from the world he created for himself, cried for all the people that must have worried about him for so, so long, and cried for his soulmate, his _Saruhiko_ , that had always been there, always been watching over him like some fucked up guardian angel.

 _You… you never left, did you?_ The tears fell in waves, but whether they were tears of happiness or sadness, he would never know. 

 _I was always here._ It admitted. _I couldn’t have left you even if I wanted to._

Anger suddenly flared in his chest as he suddenly realized that all that _pain_ , all that _effort_ to keep Fushimi in his life was a total waste because _he never left_ . So many months, so many nights of utter _silence_ from Fushimi... it was too much to think about all at once. His thoughts weren't straight and he clung to the anger, to anything but the pain.

 _Then where the fuck were you all this time?_ He lashed out angrily, recalling all of the candles that had gone to waste in his little game of play-pretend. He recalled all the worried looks from passersby as well as his own friends - hell, even _Munakata_ had worried in his own way.

 _Why did it take you so long so say something?_ He screamed in his mind. _Why the fuck are you even able to talk to me in the first place?_ He had so many questions, so many angry thoughts in his head that it was like a blazing inferno, searing hot and painful wherever he ventured.

_… Would you believe me if I told you?_

* * *

  _I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long, for letting you make up a version of me that was only destroying you._

_I’m sorry for thinking that if I waited long enough, you’d end your life and we could be together again._

_I’m sorry for forcing you to open your eyes like this._

_I’m so, so sorry, Misaki._

* * *

Yata still refused to come to work the next day, too exhausted to interact with anyone let alone everyone at HOMRA. He barely managed to eat a bowl of cereal before he collapsed on the couch, staring blankly at the television screen for who knew how long. The third disc stared at him from under it, taunting him to open it and to watch it.

 _It’s probably not a bad idea._ Yata thought albeit a bit angrily. _So that I can finally get over it._

He took a few deep, calming breaths getting up and making his way to the player, opening the case and shoving the disc in then pressing play immediately. He didn’t bother moving back to the couch; the disc had the words ‘CD’ printed on the front and he wasn’t dumb enough to think that there was going to be yet another video.

A note stared back at him from within the case, obviously Totsuka’s doing considering the silly doodle on the side. _There’s a copy of this on your PDA, too!_

“So what?” He muttered, eyes heavy from lack of energy. He let himself fall onto the floor with a soft thud, only to shoot back up once he recognized the first few notes of the song.

“ _No._ ” Yata whispered, refusing to believe his ears. He wasn’t ready to hear this song, not now of all times, not when he just (at least, he _thinks_ he just did) got Saruhiko back. In all honesty he wasn't ready to accept the fact that there was a voice in his head for good and that it was _Saruhiko's_ voice of all people - it was still too good to be true, and too crazy to even _be_ true _._ For all he knew, it could just be his mind playing tricks on him again, but this time it wasn't as painful, wasn't as draining as before.

Mostly, it felt too soon to hear it. For some reason it felt so much like a goodbye - but really, aren’t lullabies some sort of twisted version of a goodbye made after one falls asleep?

" _Twinkle twinkle, little star,_ " Fushimi's voice filled the room, washing it in a sort of calm atmosphere that Yata always loved. The tune was much slower than the normal children’s song, as if the singer was also being lulled to sleep as he sang. " _How I wonder what you are."_

"Up above the world so high," Yata sang along, vaguely hearing a third voice in the mix as he teared up yet again. He wished he didn’t sing along; if he hadn’t, Yata could have pretended that he didn’t hear this song, didn’t hear the love and affection coating each and every word like powdered sugar on top of a sugar cookie. "Like a diamond in the sky."

Tears fell down and his voice was lost as he sobbed out the last few words, not allowing himself to believe that he was hearing one of Fushimi's lullabies right now. He couldn't take it anymore - he avoided this song like the plague for so long that it just seemed unnatural to be so comforted by it, and it scared him just how easily it was able to relax him despite being something he desperately wanted to forget ever hearing. His soft cries nearly drowned out the soft tune if Fushimi's voice, but someone else sang along, too, clear as day, replacing the static Fushimi with a more _alive_ set of vocals.

 _Twinkle twinkle, little star,_ it sang, causing Yata to sob even harder. _How I wonder what you are._

Hearing the song hurt him somewhere deep inside, at a place that even he couldn't really figure out. _Let it out._ Fushimi whispered to him, and Yata obeyed, not because it was Fushimi talking to him but because he felt lost in his own mind, unsure of what was around every twist and turn he found himself at. It was like he didn't know himself, couldn't differentiate the lies from the truths after having lived in a make-believe world for so long.

So he used Fushimi as an anchor, because he had always been Yata's anchor, ever since the day they met.

He let the pain overwhelm his small frame as he fell into another episode of intense crying, clinging to the small voice that was singing along to the lullaby that was on repeat like a broken record. He still couldn't fully accept whatever happened last night, but if he had imagined that _just_ so that he could let go, as Fushimi had told him once already, then maybe it was for the best that he lied his way out of a world that was quickly fraying at the edges.

 _Sing for me,_ Yata thought, clinging to his chest and for once not even remembering his self-inflicted wounds that were still far from healing. _Sing again, Saruhiko._

And the voice did, drowning out the CD and changing melodies as it recalling every song they listened to when they were nothing but naive teenagers skipping school and hanging out on the rooftop. It brought fresh waves of tears, more waves of pain, but it felt good this time. It hurt - it hurt _so much more than before_ \- but Yata knew it was a good kind of hurt, because he wasn't finding himself in a dark, dark place anymore. He was in a clearing and it was raining hard with all the pent-up emotions that he had desperately kept under lock and key, but like all rainstorms it was bound to clear soon.

He had managed to cry himself to sleep again and woke up a few hours later; the CD was still on repeat and it still stung to hear it but he kept it playing as he trudged towards the kitchen and began to make lunch.

 _That's too much._ Fushimi said after he scooped right into the pot and began washing it.

"It's enough for today." Yata murmured, "because I don't feel like making more rice later."

He made fried rice with whatever he had left in the refrigerator and ate a small bowl of it, leaving out an extra bowl and pair of chopsticks at the other end of the table.

 _You don't need to do that anymore._ The voice seemed concerned.

 _It's still your home, Saruhiko._ Yata thought with a sad smile on his face. _I might be making less food, but it's still your home._

He finished eating and washed his dishes, all the while leaving Fushimi's out on the table. Whenever Yata worked late, Fushimi always came home with a frown and a grumbling stomach - leaving out a plate or dish and some food was something he always did. It was simply a habit he didn't have the heart to break just yet; he could deal with cooking less, but not seeing another plate on the table was still hard to live with.

 _Take your time._ Yata remembered Fushimi always telling him that whenever he was upset with something. He took those words to heart now - he wasn't going to be perfectly okay anytime soon and within all the events in the past forty-eight hours he somehow learned that it was perfectly okay to go one small step at a time, rather than large leaps like he was used to taking.

 _But I still miss you_ . Yata thought as he finished wiping the dishes try. _It's different._

_… Wanna know a secret?_

Yata cocked his head to the side, a useless gesture but one he always made. _What is it?_

_I'm... happy._

He frowned. Yata was probably talking to himself and probably setting himself up for another sobfest, but he was curious to see what his mind made up this time around.

 _You're finally healing, Misaki._ The voice was soft and held so much affection that Yata was finding himself on the verge of tears yet again. _You're finally on your way towards_ living _._

* * *

  _Please, visit me again and look at my grave with a smile on your face and always remember that I’m here, that I’m never going to leave you alone like that again._

_Remember to cook dinner for one person now, to come home with a smile on your beautiful face, and most of all  - tell yourself that I love you. So, so much._

* * *

“You know.” Kusanagi sighed, looking at Munakata. It was almost closing time when he paid a visit, sitting leisurely on a barstool and requesting a light wine as if he wasn’t particularly bothered by the fact it was a little late to be drinking - 2AM, to be exact. “Whatever you told Yata, thanks for that.”

They were both watching Yata waltz around the bar, his regular plastic smile completely erased from his face as he interacted with his customers on a more personal level once again. It was late August and Yata had only started work again two weeks ago, and although Kusanagi had been more than willing to break the door to Yata’s apartment open and force him to come to work sooner he instead heeded his gut feeling and let Yata return on his own.

Akagi, who had thrown a couple more tantrums along the way, was more than elated to see Yata back and in better condition than before. He was happy for his friend and happy that the atmosphere in HOMRA finally returned to its usual warmth. It had surprised everyone when Yata walked in with a small, sheepish smile on his face - Totsuka seemed to know what happened and thought nothing of it, and Yata told everyone he thinks he's going to be okay while apologizing profusely for making everyone worry, to which they all welcomed him back with smiles and a group hug that Anna had started along with Mikoto - though the latter was dragged into it by the former. It was an emotional day for all of them, and to celebrate they even let the customers have a free cup of coffee when they dined in. Latecomers had a free glass of alcohol on the house, though it was of the cheaper variety since Kusanagi wasn't as willing to let go of the better goods so easily.

Ever since that day everything felt right again. Yata was okay despite sometimes talking to himself, and he even played the guitar much more often and with a smile that put the sun to shame once again.

That same smile graced everyone's presence today, as Yata picked finished plates off of customer tables and put them in the back to be washed later. Munakata smiled, twirling the glass in his hand as he turned his gaze back towards Kusanagi. “It wasn’t for Yata, so to speak.” He said, glancing towards Totsuka, who was seated next to Mikoto on the couch. Totsuka caught his eyes and waved.

“What do you mean?” Kusanagi asked, genuinely curious about the other's thoughts despite knowing that when it came to Munakata, everything was a puzzle he'd probably have to put together on his own. But a few hints wouldn't hurt too much, right?

There was a pause as the sound of laughter coming from all around the premises filled the air. “You see,” Munakata chuckled, taking another slow sip of the wine, “a pair’s bond is never broken.”

* * *

  _And even if you forget that last one, I’ll tell you every single day. Every day until the day you die, and every day after._

_I won’t let you go through heartache anymore, that I promise you._

* * *

“And… done!” Yata wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand, admiring the makeshift altar he built in the living room. It looked like a simple sliding closet, but in it were his soulmate’s favorite flowers, photos of them, and a small note Yata wrote to him.

“It’s beautiful.” Anna remarked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Good job.”

Yata beamed. It was a spur-of-the-moment idea, but it was one of his better ideas yet. Kusanagi smiled from the couch behind them.

“You should be proud of yourself.” Kusanagi said, standing to join the two of them as Yata continued to dust off the already-squeaky-clean altar. “Fushimi would be very happy.”

“He is.” Yata murmured, stepping away and reveling in the gentle laugh that only he could hear. “He’s glad that you’re all here, too.”

Kusanagi moved to sit in front of the altar, closing his eyes and bowing slightly towards the altar as Yata looked at him in puzzlement. Anna moved to sit next to Kusanagi, repeating his actions and sitting in a praying position as well.

“What..?” Yata didn’t know how to voice the question in his head as Kusanagi turned to give Yata yet another smile. Anna mirrored his movements only a half-beat later.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kusanagi said, standing up and helping Anna onto her feet as well. “I just told him that you’re in good hands now.”

Anna turned to look at the photo once more. “Thank you for taking care of Misaki.” She murmured, her gaze fond as she looked at the photo of when Misaki and Saruhiko had officially gotten married. It was one of the only days where Saruhiko smiled so openly.

Yata’s lip twitched as he forced back the tears that were about to fall once more. “Thanks guys,” he murmured, “for everything. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Anna tugged on his shirt. “It’s okay now.”

“Yeah... yeah, it is.” Yata sniffled. “It is.”

“Come on, now” Kusanagi said, already halfway out the door, “or else the psychiatrist is going to get upset again. You patched up your wounds, right?”

Going to see a psychiatrist wasn’t an idea Yata had been particularly fond of in the beginning, but after the weight of his loss gradually cleared, a powerful sense of guilt had begun to eat away at him and he finally conceded, knowing it was something that would help him walk the path that Fushimi would have wanted him on. He was still a long ways away from where he wants to be, but he'll get there eventually, _one step at a time._ It wasn't a secret that Misaki was still shaken about the things he had done after Saruhiko's funeral; whenever he saw his wound or smelled the faintest sense of gingerbread he'd immediately tense up and have to fight back another wave of anxiety as he remembered everything as if he had done it only yesterday. Saruhiko oftentimes tried to help soothe Misaki, and it worked for the most part so long as Saruhiko didn't accidentally step on another landmine. 

Misaki laughed, a sound that was so bright and so bubbly that even Kusanagi and Anna’s smiles widened at the sight of it. “Yes, _Father_ , I did first thing in the morning. Coming!”

* * *

  _あの日の君の笑顔は思い出に変わる_

_(Your smile that day is now a memory)_

_I miss you._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even is consistency.
> 
> Sorry for making you guys read this. Ugh.  
> I wasn't happy at all with this ending honestly, but I left this to my beta for months and kinda gave up on it altogether after waiting for so long, so I really don't feel like improving on it. I can give explanations to plot holes if you'd like, just leave a comment and I'll explain.
> 
> Again, I'm really sorry for this crappy ending. It honestly sounded a lot better in my head way back August. I'm ashamed as a 'writer' for even posting this publicly, but this needed an ending and I don't think _never_ posting one would be any better.   
>  But to those who actually stuck around, thank you so much for your time, and thank you for giving this story a chance!

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta, [Jay](https://twitter.com/@shaele_beta), for putting putting up with my constant whining and crying.  
> Also, if anyone wants to know the playlist for this story, [here it is](http://8tracks.com/shaelemay/so-this-is-heartache#)!


End file.
